


On a Scale of One to Two Now

by theabominablesnowman



Series: Make Happy [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Derek Hale, Dad Stiles Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Mostly Canon Compliant, Original Characters - Child, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabominablesnowman/pseuds/theabominablesnowman
Summary: Stiles sends everyone but himself to a safe house and Derek hates it a lot. They mostly deal with it like adults afterwords.





	On a Scale of One to Two Now

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as ever, to @Reaping, Jenn, who's been there again to hear every ramble and complaint, be a faithful cheerleader and also a beta reader. Endlessly thankful.
> 
> There's some mild language here which is why I tagged this T. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

 

 

 

Derek looks away from Oliver’s smiling face as he picks up the phone to answer Stiles. “Hey, what’s up?” Derek asks, smiling back at Oliver, who in turn says “Da!” and reaches for him, wobbling on unsteady feet. He’d just recently started walking, and Stiles calls it a penguin waddle.

 

“Derek, get Oliver and get out of the house,” Stiles says sharply, and Derek’s thoughts halt completely, trying to use his senses to pick up what Stiles is warning him about. “ _Now_ , Derek. _Hunters. Move._ ” Derek’s brain goes back online and he swipes Oliver into his arms, picks up the diaper bag, his wallet, phone still pressed between his shoulder and ear.

 

“What’s going on, Stiles?” He asks carefully, hoping Oliver won’t pick up on the distress.

 

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes to get out of the preserve, Derek, I’ll explain when it’s safe. Go to my dad’s and get him and _get out of Beacon Hills_ .” Stiles sounds out of breath, and Derek hears his feet thudding on soft ground, running. “Derek, _please._ ” Stiles stops running, and there’s the sound of the jeep door opening and slamming closed, Stiles turning over the engine.

 

“Stiles, you’re scaring me,” Derek whispers, doesn’t know how else to say it. He’s moving on autopilot, Oliver squirming on his hip, protesting in baby-babble. “Are you in danger?”

 

“Yes and no,” Stiles replies. “I gotta go, do what I asked, okay? Promise me, Derek,” he begs.

 

“I’m out the door,” Derek says, picking up the keys to the SUV and opening the front door. He pauses and looks at their home, wonders in distracted terror if he’ll see it again.

 

“I love you,” Stiles says before the call disconnects, doesn’t give Derek a chance to reply, and Derek jumps into action, running to the car and strapping Oliver into his car seat, throwing the diaper bag on the backseat next to him and slamming the door shut so he can get into the driver’s seat. Oliver is silent all of a sudden, nervous.

 

“We’re going to grandpa’s, baby, everything is fine,” Derek says, and he knows he sounds anything other than fine, doesn’t know if Oliver can tell, doesn’t even know if he’s saying it to calm Oliver or himself. He starts the car, speeding out of the preserve, and then calls John. “Did Stiles -”

 

“Yes, Derek, I’m waiting for you.” John’s voice is steady, like it always is in situations like this, serious, scary ones.

 

Derek pushes out a relieved breath and tightens his grip on the wheel until the leather squeaks in protest. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says, voice shaking. He hasn’t been this scared in years. There’s so much to lose now. He takes deep breaths, pushes down the panic forcefully. He doesn’t realize he’s reached Stiles’ childhood home until he gets a whiff of John’s scent. It helps him center himself. John throws a bag in the back and is sitting beside Derek within moments.

 

“Do you want me to drive, son?”

 

Derek is frozen. He didn’t know, _didn’t remember,_ that he could be this scared.

 

“Derek. Stiles and Scott will take care of it. Stiles just… wants you at a safe distance. Kira has Jesse and Melissa, they’ll join us.” John sounds level-headed and Derek feels terrible that he’s so useless, so distressed that he can’t move. He manages to force himself to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out of the car when John squeezes his shoulder. They switch seats and John is backing out of the driveway before Derek even buckles up again. He turns to look at Oliver, who’s scarily quiet, and… oh, sniffling.

 

“Everything is fine, baby,” He says and reaches his hand back to squeeze one of Oliver’s tiny feet. He realizes that in the frenzied panic he didn’t even put on a pair of socks on Oliver. “I’m…” He tries, and doesn’t manage to formulate everything that’s going on in his head. It only took him five years with Stiles and one year with a baby to turn completely soft.

 

“I know.” John nods, staring steadily ahead as he drives them past the ‘Now Leaving Beacon Hills’ sign.

 

“Where are we going?” Derek asks, absently staring out of his window, his grip slack as he continues touching Oliver’s foot. The sniffling stopped at least.

 

“Safe house. Something Argent kept for rainy days,” John says curtly. “Stiles has wards around it, Chris has electric fences.”

 

Derek doesn’t say anything until John parks the car outside a huge house at the edge of a town Derek couldn’t retain the name of on the way in. He looks at his phone and realizes they’d been on the road for over two hours and Oliver is asleep in the backseat, pastel blue plastic pacifier with “I LOVE DADDY” written on the front held firmly between his lips, and that he’s still holding onto Oliver’s foot. “I… have no recollection of the last two hours.” He shakes out his arm to restart the blood flow, all but stopped because he held on to Oliver in such an uncomfortable position.

 

“I figured. Let’s get inside so you can get something to drink and to eat.” John claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes again and it jumpstarts Derek’s brain enough that he gets out of the car, turning to the back seat to get Oliver. Oliver clings to him sleepily and he grabs the diaper bag (thankfully fully packed, since Derek restocked it this morning) before he follows John inside. Kira and Melissa are already there, sitting on a large plush sofa upholstered in what appears to be white velour in the living room. Jesse is playing with building blocks on the rug at their feet. Both their faces are pinched unhappily and Derek instinctively presses Oliver closer to him. The bag John was carrying inside makes a muted thump as it lands on the carpet, and Derek hears metal, smells gunpowder, know it means there are guns in there. John takes the diaper bag from Derek and places it next to the other bag. “Sit down, Derek.”

 

Derek sits down robotically on an armchair that is as plush as the sofa looks. They’re a matching set, he thinks absently. Kira looks at him like she’s never seen him before, and he realizes she doesn’t understand what’s going on with him, why he’s overreacting. He wants to apologize and say he doesn’t understand it himself but doesn’t know how. Oliver makes himself more comfortable on Derek’s chest and Derek rubs his back in circles, on autopilot. It takes him a few minutes to regulate his breathing and collect himself before he turns angry. “Can someone explain what’s going on? Why Stiles and Scott are on their own?”

 

“Stiles wanted you and Oliver safe,” John says and that just makes Derek angrier.

 

“So he can put _himself_ in danger, like that doesn’t matter?” His other hand tightens on the arm of the chair and his claws almost pierce the padding.

 

“He and Scott can handle it.” Kira says quietly, though she doesn’t seem happy either.

 

“I’m not some little wife he can leave in the house!” Derek says, angry, banging his arm against the chair, jostling Oliver, waking him up. Oliver scrunches his face and his eyes fill with tears, and Derek forces himself to take a deep breath again and gather him back in close, shushing him and apologizing.

 

“Neither _am I_ , Derek,” Kira says, with a sharp edge to her voice, and Derek realizes what he implied.

 

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologizes, and Kira nods, to indicate she understands. She still doesn’t look too happy with him, and he doesn’t blame her. He sinks a little deeper in the overly-plush seat in shame.

 

“They wanted us with the kids. That’s all.” She says, and Derek nods back.

 

“Now tell me what’s going on,” he demands again.

 

“We don’t know, honey,” Melissa says apologetically. “They wouldn’t say.”

 

“He said _hunters_ ,” Derek recalls, suddenly terrified again.

 

John sits heavily on an armchair identical to Derek’s across from him. “Hence why Stiles wanted you gone. Wolfsbane.”

 

“Why are there hunters after my _human_ husband?”

 

“I don’t think they’re after Stiles,” John says carefully. “Cora’s safe,” he adds hastily, predicting Derek’s next question. Derek sighs, folding in on himself, wrapping both arms around Oliver, who wriggles a little, back to being sound sleep. Derek wonders if he’s exhausted because he senses Derek’s emotional turmoil or if it’s just that he missed his nap. Jesse is mumbling to himself as he builds something seemingly elaborate, ignorant to the distressed adults around him. Kira bends down to caress his soft hair and Jesse smiles toothily at her. He then looks over at Derek and his face lights up excitedly at the sight of Oliver. He struggles to stand then wobbles over to Derek, trying to climb into his lap.

 

“He’s sleeping, Jess,” Derek says quietly, smiling softly at him and petting his head.

 

Jesse shrugs and just says, “No,” before he pokes at Oliver’s back, who just turns his head the other way and snuggles against Derek’s chest, where Derek guesses he can hear his heart beating. His scent is calm and it settles Derek further.

 

“Jesse, he’ll play with you later,” Kira says, beckoning Jesse over with a finger.

 

“Now!” Jesse demands, stomping his foot so sternly he almost falls on his butt. The adults all chuckle softly, and Derek manages to help Jesse climb up into his lap without waking Oliver. Jesse settles himself in Derek’s lap, nestled against Oliver, sitting facing outwards.

 

“You can sit here if you don’t wake Ollie up, but you’ll get bored pretty fast, Jess.” Derek smiles down at him and jostles him a little with the arm he has wrapped around Jesse. Jesse shrugs. Derek looks up when he hears a fake camera shutter sound coming from...John’s phone, he realizes when he tries to locate the source of the sound. His own phone pings a moment later, receiving the photo John sent over the family group chat. Derek carefully wriggles the arm he has around Jesse so he can reach his phone, wanting to see the picture. He looks at it for a moment and then tilts the phone towards Jesse’s curious face.

 

“Me!” He exclaims excitedly. “Owie! De’ek!”

 

“Yep, that’s right, Jess,” Derek confirms, nodding.

 

“I’ll go make some dinner,” John says as he gets up, placing his phone in the back pocket of his uniform pants.

 

“I’ll help,” Melissa says immediately, following him to the kitchen. Derek looks over at Kira and raises a brow. She laughs.

 

“I haven’t been this scared in… years. Not since… probably not since the fire,” Derek wonders out loud, staring straight ahead.

 

“You haven’t had this much to lose since then.” Kira shrugs. “It’s understandable.”

 

“Were you so scared you just froze?” He asks, feeling a little ashamed.

 

“I had Melissa with me, so not exactly. But I wanted to, I think.”

 

Derek looks at her. “I thought we were done with this,” he says tiredly.

 

“Your husband’s pretty fond of trouble,” Kira says with a lopsided smile. “Or he used to be, at least.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “Too true,” he laments. “How are you… how are you feeling?” He asks, gesturing with his chin at Kira’s pregnant belly. She’s five months along. It suits her.

 

“Like I’m pregnant and my husband is out fighting evil,” Kira jokes. “So I’ve probably been better,” she admits.

 

Derek lets out a mirthless chuckle, nodding in understanding. Ollie continues to sleep like a log on his chest and Jesse seems similarly inclined, fighting to keep his eyes open. “So… we’re just… stuck here, waiting for news?” he asks after a few quiet moments, frowning.

 

“I’d rather not think about it.” Kira shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, where there’s an elaborate, expensive looking chandelier hanging.

 

“What even is this place?”

 

“No idea. Scott said to come here, I came here.” She shrugs her shoulders.

 

“I feel useless,” Derek says, frustrated.

 

“Taking care of Ollie is definitely useful, Derek. Look at it this way: Stiles and Scott trust you enough to be the only werewolf around. I’m not exactly in fight-ready mode.” She smiles at him and taps her fingers on her belly.

 

“I guess,” He grudgingly admits. He catches the smell of John’s mac ‘n’ cheese, and melts a little into the chair. He wishes he could be the kind of parental figure John is someday. He sees the potential in Stiles, and it excites him to think about it - them aging together, continuing to learn together. Suddenly John’s phone goes off in the kitchen, and Derek hears enough to make out it’s Scott, but not enough to figure out what he’s saying, since he’s whispering. He wants to jump and run to the kitchen but he has two toddlers sleeping on his chest and he’s stuck. He grumbles a little and waits patiently for a report.

 

John walks slowly back into the living room, his grip on his phone so tight his knuckles are white. “They say they’ll be barricaded in your house for the rest of the night.”

 

“ _Barricaded_? It’s not even dark yet, what do you mean the rest of the night?” Oliver stirs awake, sitting up. Jesse does too.

 

“Stiles was injured.” John sighs, and covers his face with a hand, preparing for the backlash. “Scott was too, but Stiles needs the night to recuperate,” he elaborates, pinching his nose. Oliver and Jesse look at him with curious gazes, both tilting their heads a little to the right, like puppies. Derek is too… everything; angry, worried, scared, to register the gesture.

 

“And they’re safe in the house?” Derek asks, eyebrows furrowed together.

 

“Scott says yes. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

 

“Stiles would,” Derek huffs.

 

“Which is why I demanded Scott. Stiles wouldn’t even mention he was injured,” John says tiredly, shaking his head. “He said to tell you both that everything will be fine. Chris called his contacts for reinforcements and they’ll be there tomorrow.”

 

“And we’re just going to sit here and _wait_.” Derek states angrily. He helps both toddlers climb down his legs and stands. “Not fucking likely,” he huffs, and John is in his face in seconds.

 

“We need you here. _They_ need you here.” John holds his gaze and Derek has to blink and look away from the fierce blue eyes, before he steps back. He looks down and sees John is pointing at the kids. Derek rolls his shoulders to relieve some of the tension, and John nods. “Dinner’s ready,” he says next, and Kira stands and walks over to pick Oliver up and place him on her hip, holding Jesse’s hand in her free one and leading them to the kitchen.

 

They eat in tense silence, aside from Jesse and Ollie’s occasional babble. There’s a state of the art dishwasher waiting for them to load the dirty dishes into when they’re done and John and Melissa usher Derek, Kira and the kids upstairs. There’s a room with two toddler sized beds in it, which even has a bookshelf filled with kids’ books. There’s a baby monitor between the two beds, fully charged.

 

“I didn’t… bring any clothes,” Derek says apologetically.

 

“Chris said everything is fully equipped for everyone,” John says and opens a closet full of kids’ clothing. There are pajamas on the bottom shelf. “Let’s get you boys in the bath, huh?” He says cheerfully, receiving toothy smiles in return. “Go take a shower yourself, Derek. Your room is the door across from this one.”  

 

Derek suddenly feels tired down to his bones and nods, pressing his finger and thumb into his eyes. Melissa comes into the room just as he’s leaving, picking up Oliver just as John picks up Jesse, hauling them to the adjacent bathroom. He doesn’t know how long he stands under the hot stream of water but he gets out when he hears Oliver asking for him. He finds a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to wear, and they smell like the laundry detergent they use at home.

 

“This isn’t Chris’ safe house. It’s Stiles’.” Derek states as he walks into the kids’ room, both boys already tucked into their beds, a grandparent sitting at the side of each.

 

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” John shrugs. “We’re reading Guess How Much I love You and The Hungry Caterpillar,” he says, instead of continuing that line of conversation. Derek takes that to mean John refuses to talk about it anymore, and sits down at the end of Oliver’s bed quietly. Kira is already sitting on the end of Jesse’s.

 

The kids are asleep almost too soon. Derek sits next to Oliver’s bed for another twenty minutes before John comes back in, dressed in his own sweatpants and t-shirt.

 

“The laundry detergent is the one we use at home,” Derek says out of nowhere. “That’s how I know Stiles put this place together.”

 

“Right.” John nods. He’s leaning against the door, arms crossed. “You should get some rest. Mel and I are headed to bed as well. It’s been a long day for everyone.”

 

“Do you think Stiles would pick up if I called?” Derek sounds scared even to his own ears.

 

“He always wants to hear from you,” John says with certainty. He walks over to Derek and offers a hand, which Derek takes and stands up from where he was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. “Come on, son.” He claps Derek on his back, leading him carefully but determinedly towards the door to Derek’s room, watching as Derek walks inside and wishing him goodnight before closing the door behind him, making it clear he expects Derek to stay in there, going just short of locking Derek in. Derek hears him walk to another room down the hall, and close another door. He tunes out after that.

 

Derek sits on the bed gingerly. The mattress seems to be the same kind they have at home, though the bed is significantly smaller. He just sits for a few moments, trying to analyze what he’s feeling. And then he calls Stiles on Facetime.

 

“Hey,” Stiles says. There’s a large bruise on his cheek, and scratches all over him. Derek scans his face thoroughly. He runs his eyes over the longish, wavy hair Stiles has now.

 

“Tell me,” is all Derek says, with a mix of anger and fear. Stiles’ face hardens from the soft, fond smile that was there before, replaced with a tired, angry frown.

 

“Bunch of hunters with loose morals got word of two new non-bitten wolves on Hale territory,” Stiles says curtly. “I couldn’t have you here. None of you. I’d have sent Scott with you and locked you all in that house, but he wouldn’t leave.”

 

“Stiles, you can’t fight the whole world on your own,” Derek says, and this time he’s just angry. “You should have let me stay and help.” He leans against the headboard of the bed, and upon further inspection, finds that Stiles is leaning against their own headboard at home.

 

“And then who’d take care of Ollie? And look out for my dad, and Melissa, and all the people who matter to us?”

 

Derek clenches his jaw, and looks down, away from Stiles’ bruised face. He wants to touch and take the pain away. He wants to be touched and reassured in return.

 

“Derek, I needed you there. Out of harm’s way.” Stiles sounds desperate and sad. When Derek looks back up at him, Stiles is searching Derek’s face, Derek doesn’t know for what. He hopes Stiles finds what he needs anyway. “I fight better when you’re somewhere else, safe.” He admits with a sad smile.

 

Derek sighs. “What do I tell Ollie?” He doesn’t know if Oliver would understand. He notices when Stiles or Derek are gone, sometimes gets upset about it, but doesn’t always seem to understand just how long it’s been.

 

“That you’re on vacation and dad will join soon?” Stiles offers carefully.

 

“Are you? Going to join soon?” Derek bites his lip nervously. “I’d prefer just going back.”

 

Stiles cards his fingers through his own hair, brushing it upwards and to the side, tucking it behind one of his ears. Derek misses running his fingers through the soft, dark curls. “It should be over tomorrow. I just need a few hours to heal enough and gather back my energy before I can handle them.”

 

“Show me,” Derek demands.

 

“Not on my life. Not on _your_ life,” Stiles shrugs, and winces.

 

“What is this place?” Derek looks around him at the room. It looks simple, unassuming to someone who doesn’t know Stiles, but Derek can tell Stiles had everything to do with it.

 

Stiles clears his throat. “Chris -”

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Derek cuts him off harshly.

 

“It’s a safe house.” Stiles admits quietly, and doesn’t look Derek in the eye.

 

“ _A what?_ ” Derek asks, outraged. “And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, maybe tell me we had one?”

 

“You’d think I was paranoid! But no one, _ever,_ is going to get a chance to wipe out the Hale pack again. That’s all that matters.” Stiles’s hair shakes loose and there are curls around his face again. His nostrils flare angrily, and he huffs, then winces again. Something must have happened to his ribs.

 

“Hale-Stilinski,” Derek corrects.

 

“Okay. Hale-Stilinski.” Stiles smiles something small and almost reluctant, but then he groans, wincing.

 

Derek’s breath catches in his throat, and he lowers himself down to lie in the bed, clutching the phone tight enough that the plastic protests. “I should be there. You’re in pain.”

 

“You’re exactly where you need to be.” Stiles shakes his head, disagreeing. He, too, lowers himself slowly to lie down on their bed, wincing all the way, stifling groans. Derek watches helplessly, wincing sympathetically.

 

“Stiles,” Derek begs, doesn’t even know for what. He hates seeing him in this much pain.

 

“I’ll be fine by morning, and these hunters will be either dead or gone by tomorrow night, and I’ll see you then. I promise.”

 

“You can’t kill them,” Derek orders. They promised to each other that they’d avoid deaths in Beacon Hills. It feeds the wrong energy to the Nemeton, as well as themselves.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, which pulls on his bruised cheek. It looks like he regrets doing that. “I’ll try not to. But if they force me, I will.”

 

“You should get some rest.” Derek says instead of everything else he wants to in response to that. He knows Stiles carries every death he causes on his soul, since forever, and probably for the rest of his life. But he ruthlessly goes with it when he feels it’s important enough, Derek knows. He doesn’t always understand what Stiles’ criteria for this are, but he doesn’t doubt him.

 

“Yeah. You too,” Stiles whispers. His eyes are falling shut. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I promise. Cross my heart,” he says, prying his eyes open to pin Derek with his gaze.

 

“I love you too.” Derek says, then hangs up. He doesn’t know how long he lies awake in the foreign bed, but the next thing he knows, he’s waking the next morning, instinct rousing him the moment Oliver starts babbling quietly from his room across the hall. He gets up slowly and pads quietly into the room, smiling at Oliver, who’s sitting up in his bed, beaming excitedly at the sight of Derek. “Hey baby, did you sleep well?” He whispers to him, bending to pick him up. Jesse is still sleeping soundly, so Derek carries Oliver out to his own room, placing him carefully down on the bed and sitting cross-legged across from him.

 

“Da!” Oliver exclaims, crawling into Derek’s lap and falling into his chest. Derek hums, and Oliver hums happily in return at the feeling of Derek’s chest rumbling. Derek lifts him so he can pepper kisses on his face, then tucks him close. It’s a comfort to both of them. Oliver clenches and unclenches a tiny fist in Derek’s shirt, breathing slow and calm. Then he says “Da?” as a question, and Derek knows that he’s looking for Stiles.

 

“He’ll come today,” Derek assures. “He misses you very much.” Oliver just bites into Derek’s shirt in reply. He’s growing another tooth. Derek keeps hoping it’s the last one and then gets disappointed. John keeps promising it’ll be over soon. Derek gradually lies down, holds Oliver to his chest. He runs his hands down Oliver’s body, legs, and holds onto his feet. He likes running his fingers over the tiny toes, tickling at the bottom of Oliver’s feet. He misses Stiles next to him like a limb in quiet moments like these. He hears the door to John and Melissa’s room open and close, and recognizes John’s gait thudding on the carpeting through the hall. “You wanna say good morning to grandpa?” He asks, with exaggerated excitement, just to watch as Oliver beams excitedly back.

 

“Pa!” Oliver says loudly, smacking both hands on Derek’s chest, and Derek hears John stop walking. He must peak into the kids’ room, and Derek hears him say “Oliver?” quietly, then pause again. There’s a knock on his door next.

 

“Come in,” Derek invites, and cranes his neck so he can look at John. He looks… happy. There’s a soft smile that reminds Derek of Stiles playing on his lips, and he folds his arms over his chest in that typical kind of way he has. He can fold his arms and it can mean a thousand different things, and Derek doesn’t recognize all of them (Stiles does), but this one he knows, and John looks content. Stiles says his dad has as many expressions in folding his arms as Derek does with his eyebrows.

 

“You talk to Stiles last night?” John asks. His expression hardens a little, worried.

 

“Yeah. I want to go back,” Derek admits.

 

“You’re staying here,” John orders. Whatever alpha instincts Derek ever had - which he still struggles with, even a year after getting them back - they cancel out when John orders him around, be it as innocent as “get me that knife” when John is cooking or ones like this. Derek’s instincts tell him to listen to John instead of challenging him.

 

“How can you just sit here and… _wait_ ? I want to be where _he_ is.” Oliver rolls off of Derek’s chest and makes grabby-hands at John, who obliges and picks him up in his arms. “He’s… hurt. I think something happened to his ribs, his face looks like someone used him as a punching bag. _He doesn’t heal_ , John. Not like Scott, or me, or Kira.”

 

“He does, though. It just takes him a little longer.” John is smiling at Oliver now, bouncing him on his hip. “That’s just how regular old humans are. It’s good to take a look at how we heal, how we move forward, Derek.”

 

“I don’t want him to get hurt in the first place,” Derek argues, sitting up.

 

“You think I do?” John raises his brow, watching Derek over Oliver’s head. “You think I don’t chew him out every time he does these things, shutting me out? You?” He lets the question hang for a moment. Oliver takes the opportunity to slap both hands on John’s cheeks, and John can’t help but smile. “He’s too dedicated to keeping you, and this little guy, and me, and everyone he cares about, out of harm’s way. I can’t fault him for that. I try to, but he doesn’t listen. There is _nothing_ more important to Stiles than keeping you safe.”

 

“And you,” Derek corrects.

 

“And me.” Oliver grasps John’s shirt and starts teething at it. “Your marriage, having Oliver… It probably made him worse,” John says, huffing a humorless laugh. “But he doesn’t trust anyone other than himself, and you, to keep _Oliver_ safe. So if he’s... _busy_ , he relies on you. Which is why you need to stay. The fact that he relies on you in the first place is why you need to stay. That kid has never relied on anyone, _ever_ , since his mom died.”

 

Derek doesn’t know how to even approach that last part, so instead he corrects, “And you.”

 

“What about me?” John is momentarily distracted trying to pull his shirt from between Oliver’s teeth. He seems surprised at how difficult it is.

 

“Keep Oliver and _you_ safe.” Derek elaborates. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Oh, no, I’m here to keep _you_ in check.” John chuckles for real this time. “I got a very stern lecture, that if and when he sends us to this place, the most important thing I have to do is keep you in it.”

 

Derek groans. “Sometimes I wish he could be less insightful.” He scrubs his hand over his face, wiping sleep from the corners of his eyes. “Mostly I’m just thankful that he always already _knows_ what’s wrong or right. But sometimes…”

 

“You wish he wasn’t so certain he was right. Tell me about it, I’ve been dealing with that with his mom and then him for so long.” John sighs, but he’s still content, still enthralled with Oliver. Derek loves watching them interact. He snuffs out the longing to know what his own parents would have been like. “He didn’t get accepted into that FBI program for nothing, I suppose.”

 

“I still can’t believe he left it.” Derek shakes his head.

 

“Too many people giving him orders, too many orders to follow against his better judgement. That’s not how Stiles operates. Stiles makes his own rules. You -” John points at Derek - “you would be a good cop.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Stiles makes K-9 jokes all the time,” Derek dismisses, waving a hand.

 

“No, I mean you, as a person, very human Derek Hale, would be a good cop. You should think about it.” John holds Derek’s gaze for a moment. “How about you and I go make some breakfast, little guy?” He asks Oliver next, like he didn’t say anything before that.

 

“Ya!” Oliver claps excitedly. He’s excited about everything. Derek never wants it to stop.

 

“Say yes!” John prompts, enunciating carefully, bouncing him on his hip again.

 

“Yes!” Oliver obliges, and both Derek and John freeze.

 

“He said yes,” Derek says, a little dazed. “He said a word!” He claps in his excitement, and John nods just as enthusiastically. Derek walks over and kisses the top of Oliver’s head, who swivels in John’s arms to face Derek, seemingly not sure what everyone is happy about, but down to celebrate just the same. Oliver says “yes!” again, unprompted, and beams when Derek grins at him and kisses his forehead. Oliver giggles and squirms away from Derek’s tickley beard.

 

“Stiles, though. Stiles missed it.” Derek’s face falls, and John shakes his head.

 

“You missed his first steps because you were grocery shopping,” John reminds him, dismissing his worry. “It happens, Derek. I missed Stiles’ first word, but there were many, _many_ more following that one, so I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.”

 

“You missed Stiles’ first word?” Derek frowns, confused.

 

“And the first time he walked, and several other firsts. I was a young, rookie deputy, and we needed the money.” John shrugs. “But I was there for the seconds, and thirds, and most of the rest. That’s what counts. Missing firsts is not as bad as it sounds.”

 

“I just want to go home,” Derek says, miserable. John raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything yet. “Stiles designed this place in a scarily precise way, to make sure we feel at home, but it’s _not_ home, especially when he’s… doing whatever the hell he’s doing. Getting injured, probably.” Derek knows he’s ranting, and John continues to look at him like he’s not going to listen to him complain for much longer.

 

“We’re going to make breakfast,” John says decisively instead of continuing the discussion, and lingers at the door. “You can either stay here and mope or join us.”

 

“ _How_ are you so calm? He’s fighting while injured, we don’t even know who or what and --” Derek raises his voice, frustrated and scared. Oliver frowns and clings to John’s shoulder.

 

“Derek Hale, you’re better than all this whining. I’ve seen you go through so much worse.” John lets the statement hang for a moment, eyes fixed on Derek’s. “You _trust_ Stiles, right? He will literally _mow down_ anyone who tries to come between him and you, or put you in danger. Let him do that _without distractions_ , and you’ll see him sooner than you think,” he says harshly. His face is hard, worried and frustrated, probably just as much as Derek is.

 

“Hale-Stilinski,” Derek corrects stubbornly, just for something to say.

 

“Yeah, that’s right. You're mine now.” John pokes Derek’s chest with a stern finger. There isn’t a single hint in John’s heartbeat or demeanor to indicate this claim was false. Derek flushes, touched, but continues.

 

“Aren’t you scared that we won’t? See him again?” Derek argues, coming up to John, who doesn’t move.

 

“He’s just giving me a taste of my own medicine.” John visibly deflates, shoulders drooping, and turns away from Derek.

 

“Did he tell you that?”

 

“Not in so many words, but it was definitely strongly implied, which is how Stiles usually says things he knows I don’t want to hear.” John moves a few steps away, and starts going down the stairs.

 

“Why am _I_ getting punished, then? What did _I_ do?” Derek demands, following John down. Oliver looks at him over John’s shoulder and Derek walks the few steps between them to pet his soft hair.

 

“You got under his skin, and you let him get under yours. That’s all.” John doesn’t look at Derek as he places Oliver in his high chair, then moves towards the cabinets, looking through them to find what he needs. “Get some eggs, bacon, chives and… some cheese for me, please,” John says as he pulls out a large pan, placing it on the stove.

 

“Stiles will kill you if he finds out you had eggs and real bacon _and_ cheese,” Derek comments, on autopilot. He does as he’s told, bringing everything to place next to John on the counter. It’s marble. It looks… expensive.

 

“You should tell him, he’ll be here in minutes.” John finally looks at Derek, smirking.

 

Derek rolls his eyes, groaning. “He’ll learn how to teleport, take that omelette away from you, and then go back.”

 

John’s face falls. “Oh god, he _would_ . We have to make sure he never learns that. Is that possible? Is that a thing? _Can people teleport_?”

 

“I… have no idea,” Derek admits. “That’s kind of Stiles’ thing now. But he would never just show up at your house unannounced, he’s terrified of catching you and Melissa in the middle of something,” he confides.

 

“That’s why he stopped coming by at random?” John sounds disappointed by this. It’s a pretty recent development, and Stiles only admitted to this a few weeks ago. Derek feels bad for revealing it offhand.

 

“I guess. He just wanted to give you guys privacy,” Derek explains carefully. “Since it’s new, and all that.” He smiles, tries to sound encouraging.

 

John sighs and doesn’t say anything, places the bacon in the pan to cook, and cracks a surprising number of eggs into a bowl to whisk. “Are you going to help or are you just going to stand there? Chop the chives please,” he says. “And also cut up whatever veggie you want for Oliver to chew on while we make this.”

 

“He’s _my_ kid,” Derek says, offended.

 

“He’s also mine by proxy, so give him some vegetables before you really summon Stiles to _make_ you give him vegetables.” John stares him down until Derek’s shoulders drop and he walks back to the stainless steel fridge to find something Oliver likes.

 

“Stiles doesn’t _make_ me do anything,” Derek huffs.

 

“He implies strongly you should do things, like I said before,” John teases. He’s chopping the chives, adding them to eggs along with grated cheese.

 

“Is this fridge consistently stocked? What is the deal with this place?” Derek wonders, disconcerted. Everything is pristine, smells freshly cleaned, the food is fresh, the clothes are washed. He keeps wondering if Stiles knew, or if he’s just… unhealthy levels of paranoid at all times.

 

“No, Melissa and Kira bought the groceries,” John assures him. He takes the cooked bacon and manages to chop it up without burning his fingers, somehow.

 

“Okay, but the laundry? This place is _clean_ , John,” Derek insists, looking around them.

 

“He didn’t know, if that’s what you’re asking yourself. He’s just… prepared.” John doesn’t look at Derek as he whisks the bacon into the egg mixture and pours it into the hot pan. He makes the best scrambled eggs. In general John is a fantastic cook, but Stiles insists on supervising and taking all the good things out. “Derek. Vegetables.”

 

Derek tries to get a subtle sniff off of John, to glean off what’s going on there, but John is like a brick wall. “Did Stiles teach you how to mask chemosignals?” He ends up asking, a little hurt.

 

“Yes, it’s very useful when you’re surrounded by werewolves and also enjoy keeping your emotions private.” John gives him a smug kind of smile, then turns back to scrambling the eggs in the pan.

 

“ _He_ doesn’t do it.” Derek is still offended. He stands and folds his arms over his chest defensively.

 

“That’s because he knows it’s important to you and Oliver. Derek. Just get a cucumber from the fridge and cut it into sticks, please.”

 

“No, tell me why you asked him to teach you how to do this. Also, I didn’t know you _could_ do these things,” Derek insists. John sighs and goes to the fridge himself, then back to the cabinets, opening a few drawers before he finds the one with the cutlery and takes out a knife to cut the cucumber he got from the fridge into sticks. He hands them over to Oliver, still silent. Derek waits him out.

 

“I can’t… do as much as Stiles can. I can do some things. Minor things. If I believe strong enough. And it sounds _ridiculous_. But it’s true,” John says eventually. Oliver grins as he chews, holding two sticks at the same time and alternating at biting them. Derek softens at the sight and touches Oliver’s back, scritching gently. Oliver giggles and looks up at him. “Can you at least set the table?” John sighs, raising his eyebrows when Derek looks at him. Derek obliges him, walks over to the cabinets to get plates and cutlery from the drawer John opened before.

 

Melissa comes down, walking slowly behind Jesse, who’s stumbling along. Kira is right behind them. “I smelled food,” Kira said. “And this one has been kicking around a depressing amount.” She points at her belly, groaning as she sits down, and Melissa places Jesse in his own high-chair, between Oliver’s high-chair and Kira. Oliver offers one of his cucumber sticks to Jesse, unprompted. All of the adults smile. The high chairs are identical, brightly colored in blue, yellow, and red. Melissa gets bread to toast and Derek finally has some sense to take the butter out of the fridge when he notices. There’s a short flurry of movement that ends when everyone sits down and there’s a big spread of food on the table. There’s peace for a few moments, before Derek’s phone rings.

 

“Stiles?” he answers. He’s wary, but allows himself to be hopeful. It’s probably not the smartest choice. He drums his fingers on the table, then runs his hand through his hair and beard, both getting a little long.

 

“Hey,” is all he gets from Stiles for a moment. He hears him take a deep, maybe labored breath. “Uh, it… it might take more than just today,” Stiles says, sounding uncharacteristically timid. “I _know_ , I know you’re scared, I know you don’t understand, I know you’re angry. And you’re right to be all of those things,” he says in a rush. It doesn’t help with the pit growing deeper and deeper in Derek’s stomach.

 

John, Melissa and Kira all watch him carefully. He feels a little sick. “Stiles -”

 

“Don’t leave that place. Please.” Stiles cuts him off. “I know you hate everything right now. I _know_ you -”

 

“Oliver said his first word today,” Derek says in a rush, repaying Stiles by cutting him off too.

 

Derek hears Stiles...gasp, maybe. “What,” he says quietly, and Derek isn’t sure if he’s just shocked, or if he’s asking Derek what Oliver said.

 

“He said ‘yes’,” Derek says carefully. Stiles sighs over the phone. “Why are you fighting these… hunters,” Derek pauses, spitting the word with disdain, “why are you alone there?”

 

“Because this is m -”

 

“ _Your_?”

 

“ _Our_ territory,” Stiles corrects himself. “And as an emissary to both packs that live here, it’s my job, my _role_ in life, to handle this.”

 

“So why does Scott get to be there?” Derek asks. It feels pathetic to ask, but he can’t help himself.

 

“Because I couldn’t get him to _leave_ ,” Stiles says sharply. It sounds like it’s aimed not just at Derek. Like Scott is there, listening, and Stiles is angry with him. For staying to help him.

 

Oliver chooses that moment to try and reach Derek’s phone, saying “Da, da!” over and over. Derek wonders if he can hear and recognize Stiles’ voice. “There’s someone else who wants to talk to you,” he says bitterly, and places the phone on the one part of the tray that doesn’t have mashed cucumber or egg on it, turning the speaker mode on. Oliver says “Da!” again, and Derek hears Stiles clear his throat, take another deep breath.

 

“Hey puppy.” Stiles’ voice is suddenly soft, gentle. It both calms and stresses Derek, as does the nickname.

 

“Don’t call him that, it’s speciest,” Derek chides.

 

“That’s not a real word, and it’s a very fitting nickname, so it’s staying.” That sounds more like regular Stiles, Stiles who smiles and hugs and kisses and doesn’t make Derek stay miles away from him when he’s in danger. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll even like it,” he says, like he knows he’s right. It’s a tone that can drive Derek crazy on bad days. Now it just makes him wish he could see that smug expression and kiss it away.

 

Oliver hits his tray with a hand, making bits of egg fly everywhere, including onto Derek’s phone, face, and shirt. Some even gets into John’s hair. Derek has to bite his lip to avoid laughing. John takes the bit of egg out of his hair slowly, frowning and huffing, but it looks like the type of irritated that he’s used to being after raising Stiles. Melissa doesn’t stop herself from snorting, which gets Kira going, and Jesse hits his own tray, laughing, making some bits of chewed up toast fly at Melissa’s nose and Kira’s cheek. That gets John laughing.

 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, curious.

 

“Guess Oliver wasn’t happy we ignored him, so he started a mini food-fight,” Derek explains, and lets himself laugh as Oliver smacks the table some more, forcing Derek to shield his face with one of his hands.

 

“Dad, take a picture,” Stiles says urgently.

 

“There’s food flying at my face, Stiles, because this child is yours,” John says between peals of laughter.

 

“You always forget that I’m half you,” Stiles says fondly.

 

“No, this part is definitely your mother,” John argues good-naturedly, trying to grab Oliver’s active hands to get him to stop. Melissa already got hold of Jesse. “I assume Derek was a well-behaved, well-mannered child,” he explains. “So this isn’t from his side.”

 

“I love how you all like to take all the bad stuff and blame it on me,” Stiles complains.

 

“It’s not the bad stuff. It’s just the _you_ stuff,” Derek explains. He wishes Stiles was close enough to hold and hug as an apology.

 

There’s a crash over the phone, and then a gunshot. Stiles mutters a curse, and Derek hears Scott exclaim one of his own. Oliver’s smile wipes off his face in a second, as does Derek’s.

 

“What was that?” Derek asks sharply.

 

“I gotta go,” Stiles says, distracted. He groans, Derek assumes he’s moving. “I love you!”

 

Stiles doesn’t hang up and Derek realizes he’s waiting. “We love you too,” he returns, good mood all gone, leaving him angry and scared. The line cuts off, and the picture Derek has for Stiles’ contact, of him holding Oliver at the beach, cheeks sunburned but grinning like a loon, disappears off his screen. Derek cleans the bits of food up, flicking them off.

 

Oliver looks up at Derek and shoves his hand under Derek’s on his tray. Derek doesn’t mind all the smooshed food, and curls his fingers around Oliver’s tiny hand. He grinds his teeth, knows everyone is looking at him but doesn’t look at anyone back. He also knows they’re all waiting for him to do something before they say anything. Jesse whispers something at Kira that Derek doesn’t retain. His mind is full of a lot of things, mainly anger and frustration, and he needs to clear it. He stands up, unbuckles Oliver from his high chair to pick him up, and then leaves the kitchen in complete silence. He hears Melissa get up, and blinks, confused when she places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

“I know how you feel, Derek. When Raf- when Scott was a baby, and my ex-husband was away on a mission… it was hard to accept, I was angry too. Claudia and I used to sit together and fume about our dumb husbands over too much wine.”

 

Derek turns to look at her and adjusts his grip on Oliver, just for something to do with himself. He doesn’t know what to say. He never thought he’d have any kind of relationship with Melissa, let alone one like this, where she would want to comfort and help him. He’s still grinding his teeth. Oliver curls his fists into Derek’s shirt, gnawing on the collar absently. “The difference is, before Oliver, I’d have been there with him and kept him safe, and now he won’t let me.”

 

“He trusts you to do other things,” Melissa says, moving the hand that was on his shoulder to grip his bicep. Strangely, it helps ground Derek. Familial gestures have become comforts instead of jarring experiences. “He _needs_ you to do other things. Because he needs you to be safe. I’ve known Stiles a bit longer than you,” she says, a little teasing. “There’s nothing that scares him more than people he cares about getting hurt. It’s been ramped up to about one billion now that you have Oliver.” She turns more serious, but there’s a now-familiar sarcastic lilt to her voice at the end. “You shouldn’t worry. I’ve seen him practice with Scott, you know? Stiles had official training when he was in the FBI program. I think he doesn’t let you see the full picture of just how competent he is even without the… magic? Is magic the right word?”

 

“I don’t know what the right word is,” Derek says, a little detached. “Why wouldn’t he let me see…?”  

 

“He’s afraid you’ll run the other way, be scared of him.” Melissa smiles at him fondly.

 

“What an idiot,” Derek huffs, can’t keep his own fondness out of his voice. He bends a little to lay a soft kiss on the top of Oliver’s head, who babbles at him in return and uncurls his fingers to tap at Derek’s chest.

 

“I can safely say that’s a true Stilinski trait. Hm, probably a Claudia thing too. I don’t think Stiles remembers, but she was her own brand of badass. John made her take self defense classes, but she didn’t tell him she’d already studied martial arts. She thought it was funny that John thought she couldn’t protect herself.” Melissa shares, still smiling. It’s a little sad, this time. “She took me out to their yard once when Stiles and Scott were napping. She put the baby monitor next to me, and then just… I think it was karate. Maybe something else. It was impressive, and she’d talked me into going to take some classes of my own.”

 

“I wish I’d met her,” Derek says. “She sounds a lot like Stiles.” He releases a quiet laugh. Oliver is slowly but meticulously covering his shirt with half-eaten food from his dirty hands, but he’s content to just cling to Derek.

 

“He _is_ a lot like her,” Melissa confirms. “I think John shaped him that way, wanted Stiles to be more like her than like him.”

 

“To kind of… keep her with him? Alive?” Derek asks quietly.

 

“No,” Melissa says softly, shaking her head. “He just thought she was better.”

 

“That sounds like Stiles, too,” Derek says with a smile. “He keeps… keeps saying I’m better, that he wants Ollie to take after me.”

 

“Stiles got a lot of John in him too.” Melissa nods. “Whether he likes it or not,” she adds teasingly.

 

“Does Scott take after your ex? At all?” Derek wonders. It’s out of the blue, but it interests him nonetheless, because he sees so much of Melissa in Scott, but doesn't know if it might be some other influence. If there was one. Oliver is gathering the bits of food he’d smeared on Derek’s shirt and has now moved on to combing them into Derek’s beard. Derek grabs his hand to stop him, because that’s definitely his limit, but Oliver makes an angry noise and shakes his hand free, then slaps Derek’s mouth. “Okay, okay,” Derek says, laughing, and allows Oliver to keep pushing his fingers through his beard.

 

“In some ways, I think he does. But not a lot. He resents Rafael quite a lot. He makes sure to distance himself from what he thinks Rafael is like.” Melissa tilts her head thoughtfully, then tilts her chin towards Oliver. “I think you should go get him cleaned up. And you too,” she laughs, changing the subject. Derek silently appreciates her candidness even though he knows she wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.

 

“Yeah, before this food crusts up in my beard.” He wrinkles his nose, then smiles at Melissa. “Thank you. For - for this,” he says, a little stiff. She tightens her grip on Derek’s arm, and he’s surprised he didn’t realize it was still there.

 

“When there’s too much Stilinski in your life, you can come to me, okay?” She shakes him a little, and Derek ducks his head, doesn’t want her to see his emotional expression. He nods.

 

Melissa shoves him, tilting her chin in the direction of the stairs. “You smell like the food from breakfast, go wash up.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Derek says obediently, and heads up the stairs, feeling lighter than he has since… since he arrived, probably. He goes upstairs and walks into the large main bathroom. It’s spacious, there’s a bath, a shower stall, and two sinks. He places Oliver on the counter next to one of them, keeping one hand on Oliver as he turns the tap on and washes his other hand, then wetting a washcloth to get Oliver’s face clean. “Can’t wait until you’re older and don’t get this dirty,” he says fondly. Oliver grins at him, then giggles under Derek’s careful ministrations, squirming. Derek boops his nose and then tries to get the bits of food from his beard. He thinks he gets most of it. “Let’s get you out of those pajamas and that diaper changed, huh?” Oliver just keeps grinning at him, going back to gnawing at Derek’s shirt distractedly as soon as Derek picks him up. “I am also very ready for you to have all your teeth.” He sighs.

 

He makes a quick stop to change his shirt into a henley he finds in the closet in his room, then gets Oliver changed, John joining him in the kids’ room to get Jesse, and they all go back downstairs together. “Are we allowed to go outside or is this a complete house arrest?”

 

“I… don’t actually know, Stiles didn’t say. I don’t think we’re confined to the house,” John speculates. “You have a stroller in the back of the car, right?”

 

Derek nods. “We keep it there.” They don't use it often, only when they take Oliver to town.

 

“Well, I don’t think a short walk would do any harm.” John shrugs, and Derek sighs, relieved. This house smells… like it’s trying its hardest to smell like home, but still too foreign.

 

Melissa gets up from where she was sitting on the plush sofa next to Kira, who gets up just as gracefully as ever. “You wanna go outside for a bit, Jess?” Kira asks with an excited tone.

 

Jesse’s eyes go wide. “YES!” he exclaims loudly, and when Oliver claps and repeats, “Yes!” Derek beams proudly at him.

 

They get Oliver’s diaper bag, a few snacks, water. Derek watches as John fastens a gun to his belt. Melissa frowns at John but he narrows his eyes at her and she relents. He’s had those types of wordless discussions with Stiles. It’s amazing how many mannerisms he’d picked up from his father. Derek wonders sometimes if he’d picked up any from his. Stiles usually takes his hand, and says “I’m sure you did.” and Derek knows it’s a platitude, but it helps anyway.

 

Derek fastens the clasps on the stroller, and they go out. Jesse walks slowly between Kira and Melissa. They all blink in the bright sunlight, but it’s good to be outside. It’s a little chilly, he realizes, and digs through the diaper bag for Oliver’s beanie. It has a wolf embroidered on it because Stiles thinks he’s funny. The neighborhood is very suburban, all neat houses with neat front lawns, some with actual white picket fences. It feels borderline Stepford. The house they're staying at looks like a fort in the middle of all of that. There are no people outside other than them. There’s an occasional car, mostly sedans or minivans, but Derek can hear people inside the houses. They walk until they see a park. It’s early in the day and it’s the middle of the week, so it’s empty. Derek parks the stroller next to a bench and lets Oliver down from it, watching him wobble, curbing the urge to follow him around in case he falls. Jesse runs straight for the swings, and John walks behind him, picking him up to situate him in the one that’s suitable for toddlers and pushing him at a sedate pace. Oliver points at them, looking at Derek.

 

“Da,” he says, demanding.

 

“You want to go on the swing?” Derek asks. “Yes?” he prompts further, encouraging Oliver to understand the context of the word.

 

“Yes!” Oliver claps excitedly, and Derek grabs his waist and walks him over to the swings, dropping him carefully into the toddler swing next to Jesse.

 

“I didn’t think I’d get to do this, after…” Derek starts, vaguely waving the hand not busy pushing Oliver when John just smiles at him fondly, not saying anything.

 

“I hoped you would. Didn’t really imagine it’d be with my son, but I’m glad for it. My gain.” John shrugs.

 

“You hoped I’d get married and have a kid?” Derek asks skeptically.

 

“I was more hoping you wouldn’t end up in jail, for the most part, but yeah, in a way, you could say I hoped you’d get a chance at a normal life again. I’m sorry _I_ ended up putting you in jail.” John lowers his gaze to the ground, and Derek watches a flush spread on the back of his neck.

 

“You were doing your job,” Derek dismisses. He pushes the swing a little harder than he means, then quickly grabs it to slow it down.

 

“Could have done it better,” John insists.

 

Derek shrugs. “I’m not angry about that. Not anymore.” The ‘ _you’re important to me now_ ’ hangs unsaid on Derek’s lips, and he doesn’t know if John knows it’s there.

 

“You’re allowed to be angry about a lot of things, including that,” John says seriously. The back of his neck is still red.

 

“I spent too many years of my life being angry and being focused on staying angry. I don’t need that anymore.” Derek lets the swing go back and forth on its own for a moment, before renewing the movement when it starts slowing down. John does the same. “Stiles made me go and see a therapist before we started dating.”

 

“Thought you said ‘Stiles doesn’t make you do anything’,” John teases.

 

“He had a point with that one,” Derek shrugs, and clears his throat from the sudden thickness the statement brings. “It was good. For both of us. Plus, he said he wouldn’t date me until I did, so. He said I should take care of myself first. He knew what he was saying.”

 

“Well, Stiles definitely has a lot of experience with therapists.” John says quietly. Their conversation stops when Jesse demands to be let down from the swing, bored, and Oliver has yet to be satisfied. Derek wonders how much of the conversations they’ve been having around Jesse and Oliver register with the kids. He grimaces at the thought. Oliver demands to be taken to the slide, pointing to it, the moment he realizes that’s where Jesse and John have gone. Kira switches with John, who goes to sit next to Melissa on the park bench, taking her hand in his.

 

“Da, da,” Oliver says it so quickly it almost sounds like “dad” and Derek’s heart misses a beat.

 

“Daddy,” Derek enunciates. “Say da-ddy,” he tries.

 

“Dada!” Oliver obliges.

 

“Close enough, let’s go on the slide.”

 

They stay in the park for a long time, content to just let Jesse do what he wants, Derek helping Oliver follow him wherever he goes. Eventually they both settle in the sandbox, Derek and Kira keeping trained eyes on them to make sure no sand-eating is taking place.

 

“Are you okay, Derek?” Kira asked carefully. They took the bench Melissa and John had occupied previously while Melissa and John went on a short walk on their own. Derek could hear them nearby, didn’t listen to their conversation, just enough to make sure they were safe.

 

“I don’t know. Right now, yes. In a second when we start talking about this, probably more towards not really,” Derek says, mostly in good humor, glancing at Kira.

 

“I trust them,” Kira says confidently.

 

“I do too,” Derek agrees. “I still don’t like it.”

 

“This martyr competition you and Stiles have is the worst,” Kira groans, exasperated. “I thought Scott was bad, but you guys beat him by a mile. A thousand miles, in fact. You need to get a grip on that, there’s a kid that kinda likes his parents involved.”

 

“ _Kinda_ likes his parents?” Derek repeats.

 

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask him. I’m assuming, based on the fact he’d be fine if you superglued him to your chest for the rest of time. Ideally both yours and Stiles’ at the same time.”

 

Derek laughs, a real, honest laugh. It’s freeing. Oliver wobbles over to them, followed closely by Jesse. They’re covered in sand, and Derek can smell that it’s time for a diaper change, but it can wait until they get back to the house. A year has given him enough training on not gagging because of the strong smell. Derek listens for a moment for John and Melissa, and then calls out when he figures they’re close enough to hear.

 

“These guys ready for lunch, hm?” Melissa asks, beaming at both boys.

 

“This particular one is ready for a diaper change,” John says, wrinkling his nose, pointing at Oliver.

 

They pack up and head back. The streets are still quite empty, aside from one woman who’s standing at her yard, maybe gardening. She stares at them pointedly until they walk past her line of vision. Derek shrugs the uneasy feeling off - it’s just a nosy neighbor wondering who the new family is.

 

Derek gets Oliver changed and mostly clean of sand, working alongside Kira who is taking care of Jesse, while John and Melissa make lunch.  

 

Stiles calls again just as Derek closes the kids’ bedroom door behind him, after putting Oliver down for his nap, once he's done eating and cleaning up yet again. Jesse will join him soon.

 

“You left the house.” Is the first thing Stiles says to him when he answers.

 

“Do you have cameras in here?” Derek asks, suspicious.

 

“Wards,” Stiles says easily. “Why did you leave the house?”

 

“Because if we didn’t Ollie and Jesse would _go insane_ ,” Derek says pointedly. “Does our house have bullet holes in it now?”

 

“I’ll fix those,” Stiles says dejectedly. “But I actually just wanted to tell you that you can come back tomorrow. The hunters are gone.”

 

“Did they leave the territory dead or alive?” Derek asks quietly, suddenly tired down to his bones.

 

“Only one of them died,” Stiles says defensively. “And it wasn’t me,” he points out quickly.

 

“Chris?”

 

“Friendly fire, actually. They were complete morons,” Stiles says, like he can’t believe he had to deal with people like that in the first place.

 

“So why did you send us away?”

 

Stiles sighs. “They were complete morons, but they were _a lot_ of morons.”

 

“So you sent us away because having less people on your side is… what, the smart choice?” Derek berates, irritated.

 

Stiles growls, frustrated. “No, okay? No. But we handled it. Parrish helped.”

 

“Oh, good. One single person on your side.”

 

“Derek, Chris brought ten guys of his own -”

 

“And how many were on the other side?” Derek cuts him off curtly.

 

“I didn’t stop to count heads,” Stiles replies, just as short, irritated too.

 

“You’re not sending me away again,” Derek says. It’s more a commanding warning than a request.

 

“We’ll talk about it when you get home,” Stiles deflects. “We’re doing some clean up, and I don’t want you to freak out about -”

 

“Did you get shot?” Derek asks, tone sharp.

 

There’s a very meaningful silence on Stiles’ side. “It’s nothing major,” he says eventually, and Derek growls.

 

“No, it’s just a flesh-wound, I’m sure.”

 

“When you quote Monty Python when you’re angry at me it kinda takes out the edge,” Stiles says, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “It’s okay, Derek. Bullet was taken out, I’m healing. I kinda look terrible, but I’m not bothering with healing the actual flesh-wounds, those will go away on their own.”

 

“So we can come home tomorrow morning?” Derek asks, hopeful. He’s still angry, but the wish to be home wins out.

 

“Yes. I can’t wait to see you,” Stiles says, and it’s painfully earnest, even through the phone.

 

“Oliver said ‘dada’ when I asked him to say daddy,” Derek shares on a whim. “That’s two words in one day.”

 

“I’d say it’s a good learning curve. Kid’s smart.” Stiles is smirking. Derek smiles to himself at Stiles’ smug tone.

 

“I’ll go tell everyone else,” Derek says, though he doesn’t want to hang up. Stiles sounds like all the pressure’s been taken off him and Derek wants to hear more of that.

 

“Already texted my dad, Scott texted his mom,” Stiles says sheepishly, and Derek closes his eyes, shakes his head in disbelief. “You’ll be home soon. I’ll be big spoon for a month,” Stiles says when he hears Derek sigh.

 

“Two,” Derek argues.

 

“A year, the rest of our lives. Whatever you want, Derek.” There’s that earnestness again. It makes Derek ache to be next to Stiles.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Derek says offhandedly, because he can’t do these emotional talks when Stiles isn’t physically there with him.

 

“I think that’s one of the reasons you threw that box of chocolates at my head a couple of years ago,” Stiles teases.

 

“Oh, that was _definitely_ because you were being an asshole,” Derek confirms emphatically.

 

“Got us to kiss for the first time,” Stiles says lightly.

 

“Yeah, and then you told me to go to therapy before we could go on a real date,” Derek grumbles.

 

“And then we went on a date the very same day you went to that first meeting with the therapist, I have no regrets.”

 

Derek laughs reluctantly. “Of course you don’t.”

 

“I have _some_ regrets,” Stiles amends after a moment. Derek thinks Stiles went extra quiet to listen to him laugh.

 

“I know. You’ve apologized before.” Derek nods understandingly, doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I did make you go to therapy yourself,” he says with a smirk a beat later.

 

“Solid move on your part,” Stiles agrees.

 

“Are you going to come here tonight?” Derek tries to ignore the hopefulness in his own voice.

 

“No, babe, I don’t want Ollie to see me like this. It’s not pretty.” Stiles sighs loudly, his breath rasping through the phone’s mic. He clears his throat. “It’s all superficial, don’t worry,” he says before Derek can say anything. “It just… looks bad.”

 

“What about that bullet hole? That didn’t sound superficial,” Derek complains. He knows what bullets feel like. He never, ever wanted that to happen to Stiles again.

 

“Derek,” Stiles starts, like he’s going to tell him that he’s overreacting.

 

“No, Stiles, I’ve been shot quite a few times, I know what that means, and I know you don’t heal like me. Don’t patronize me.” Derek grinds his teeth to make sure he doesn’t say anything further, doesn’t raise his voice.

 

“ _You_ don’t patronize _me_ . I heal fine. Scott’s been pain-draining me since it happened, I’m _fine_. It isn’t as big a deal as you’re making it into.”

 

“Humans die when they get shot, Stiles.”

 

“Werewolves can die too, Derek.” Stiles says pointedly. “But sometimes when humans get shot they only lose a toe.” Derek can hear the smug smile in Stiles’ tone.

 

“You didn’t lose the whole thing,” Derek interrupts, but Stiles doesn’t let him finish.

 

“Look, I don’t want to have this fight. It already happened, there’s nothing we can do about it. I know you’ll feel better when you come home tomorrow and see there’s nothing to be worried about.”

 

“I hate this place.” Derek complains.

 

“You only hate it because I’m not there.” Stiles says, matter-of-fact. Derek grumbles quietly because it’s true. “Smells wrong. I know you.”

 

“You tried, with the laundry detergent. Not enough, though. Lacked in your scent.” Derek admits eventually. “Please don’t send me away again. I was scared to death. I haven’t been this scared in… in a very long time.”

 

“I know. Dad told me.” Stiles clears his throat, sounds remorseful. Derek feels a little vindicated, but still plenty angry. “I’m sorry, Derek. I was scared too. I just wanted you and Oliver as far from here as I could get you, safe. You’ve had enough of hunters and violence for three life times.”

 

“And you didn’t? Give me a break, Stiles,” Derek dismisses. “That’s patronizing again, and that’s not fair. We’ve been through the same things.”

 

“Yes and no,” Stiles says, sounding more level-headed than Derek feels, which irks him even more. “I had my dad, I had Scott, I had Melissa. I had a support system to get me through all that. You didn’t and that’s significant, Derek. You’ve taken all the toll and all this guilt on yourself for years and I…” Stiles stops, sighs, and then continues. “I just want to spare you from that. That’s all. It’s not that I think you can’t handle it. I just don’t want you to need to. You’ve worked hard to get where you are. I’m proud of you and I was happy to take part in it, and I don’t want to ruin all of that by dragging you back in when we have a baby and other things, _better_ things to do.” Derek hears Stiles take a deep breath. “I should probably have said that when we’re in the same room,” Stiles says quietly, sounding apologetic.

 

It takes a moment for Derek to wrap his mind around everything Stiles said. Stiles waits him out, knowing Derek will need his time. “I like when you ramble about my emotional well-being,” Derek says honestly, smiling.

 

“It’s a subject that’s close to my heart and I can discuss it at length,” Stiles says. It’s straightforward and honest. Stiles says it like it’s obvious and Derek marvels at how easy it is to believe - that it’s obvious to Stiles, that Derek’s emotional well-being is important.

 

“Can’t you come today?” Derek ends up saying. “Can’t we go back today? This whole thing… messed me up and seeing you would help.”

 

“I want to make sure the house is fixed up and _I’m_ fixed up before you come back, Derek.” Stiles sighs over the phone. “I want you to come back into a normal situation. Not a post-hunter-attack mess.”

 

“Are you a mess?” Derek feels like he needs to make sure, one more time.

 

“No, not really. At least I won’t be by the time you get here. Maybe a few scrapes, I don’t want to waste energy taking care of those.”

 

Derek can imagine him shrugging. He sighs tiredly. “I think _I_ need to take a nap, while Ollie’s out. I’ve adopted his schedule.”

 

Stiles laughs. “A one year old’s schedule isn’t really a bad thing to adopt. I should take at least two days a week to join that schedule.”

 

“It’s not like you’re _away_. You’re in the cabin. You come in all the time. One of us should have an actual job,” Derek says with a smile.

 

“I wouldn’t call it an actual job, but we’re definitely getting you one.”

 

“Not until Oliver’s in kindergarten,” Derek argues. Derek didn’t think he’d get this attached, so unwilling to place Ollie in anyone else’s care for as long as he could avoid it. But he did. He thinks Stiles secretly wishes he wasn’t so involved in the international supernatural community, so he’d be able to spend more time with them, but he’s also incredibly committed to it.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Derek can hear the smile in Stiles’ voice. “Babe, I should get back to fixing things up,” Stiles says, regretful. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Give Ollie and my dad a hug for me.”

 

Derek takes a deep breath and nods. “The house better be spotless and smell normal. No gunpowder or wolfsbane,” he orders jokingly.

 

“Yes, sir,” Stiles says dutifully.

 

“Bye, Stiles,” Derek says softly.

 

“Bye, babe,” Stiles says and hangs up. Derek feels a little lighter, and decides to go downstairs instead of hunkering down in bed.

 

“So you got the good news,” John says as Derek sits down in the same plush armchair he did the other day.

 

“Yeah.” Derek sighs. “It feels like we’ve been here for a week.”

 

“Eh, the minute you get a whiff of Stiles you’ll forget all about it. I’ve seen you picking him up from the airport.” John doesn’t sound too impressed with him.

 

“Uncalled for,” Derek huffs, ears reddening.

 

“It’s nice.” John shrugs. “Anyway, it wasn’t _all_ bad. We got a tiny family vacation. We should probably do it under normal circumstances sometime,” he suggests.

 

“There were two very prominent missing components, but that’s a good idea.” Kira smiles at John and shifts a little, uncomfortable, trying to find a better position for her belly.

 

Melissa notices and wraps an arm around Kira’s shoulders, then hands over a throw pillow for her to place behind her back. “So, any news on the name front?”

 

“Scott keeps getting new ideas, and it’s the _worst_.” Kira sighs. “He keeps going “I’ve got the perfect one!” and then the next morning - or maybe even by lunch, I don’t know - he says he has something better. So I have to keep approving them or vetoing them. It’s worse than when I was pregnant with Jesse.” She shakes her head fondly.

 

“Do you guys write the ideas down like I told you to?” Melissa wonders, and Derek covers a snort with a cough. Melissa gives him a dirty look.

 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure Scott will go back to the first two we thought of eventually.”

 

They continue chatting until Jesse and Oliver wake up from their nap, and then Derek and Kira are busy with the kids. John and Melissa each read a book, and Derek will always find it funny that John likes crime novels (Stiles does too, it’s equally funny). Derek thinks they like them just because they usually figure out the ending half-way through. Stiles ruined so many books Derek was planning on reading or was in the middle of reading that he just stopped reading crime novels altogether. Stiles doesn’t even do it on purpose, not really. He just gets so excited when he figures it out that he has to tell Derek.

 

Soon it’s morning, and John won’t let Derek call Stiles as they drive away from the safe house, Derek secretly hoping he’ll never see it again. He sits next to Oliver in the backseat, alternating staring at his phone and staring out the window, so he’s uncharacteristically startled when John talks to him.

 

“I think you should consider the police academy.” It sounds like an innocent suggestion, but Derek knows better - there’s an expectation for Derek to follow through.

 

“I don’t know -”

 

“Derek. Look into it. As a favor to me.” John doesn’t allow him space to think of an excuse why not.

 

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I will,” Derek promises. He thinks for a few minutes, the humming radio and the sound of the car speeding on the asphalt grounding his mind. “Did Stiles put you up to this?”

 

“No, I definitely have independent thought, Derek.”

 

The sarcasm is heavy and Derek chuckles reluctantly. “Are you sure they’ll allow a wolf into the K-9 unit?”

 

“Funny.”

 

Derek laughs, and Oliver joins, happy simply because Derek seems to be. When they get to the Stilinski house, Melissa isn’t there yet. Derek and John stand in the driveway next to the running car and Derek is the first one to lower his gaze. “Thank you,” he says simply and John smiles reassuringly at him, like he knows exactly what Derek is thanking him for, and Derek is grateful for being… understood.

 

John seems to hesitate for a second before he grabs Derek and wraps him in a tight hug. “You put my stupid kid in line, okay? I’m trusting you,” he says quietly, breath blowing through Derek’s hair, then takes a step back.

 

Derek salutes him, smiling. “I better get used to obeying your orders if you’re going to insist on the police academy thing.”

 

“You better believe it. Stiles didn’t get that stubborn on his own. Had to learn it somewhere.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes then turns sharply to look into the car, where Oliver is calling him. He raises his brows - dada definitely seems to be a thing now. “I better get going.”

 

“Yep.” John gives him a bright smile and slaps his shoulder, aiming him towards the driver’s seat. “See you soon, son.”

 

A shiver goes down Derek’s back and he just nods at John, then says back “Any requests?”

 

“The most prime cut steak you can find. Stiles owes me.”

 

Derek and John both laugh as Derek shuts the car door and reverses down the driveway. Melissa arrives just as he leaves, having dropped Kira at home, and he waves at her. She waves back and gives him a warm smile.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

His smile dims a little as he parks the car outside their house. It looks…normal, mostly, like it did when he left two and half days ago. Derek takes Oliver out of the car and just stands outside, scanning the walls (concrete and not wood) of their home. There are… what seem like scuff marks that weren’t there before, all over, but mostly on the walls of the first floor. There’s a strange dent in the metal side of the shed that Derek intends to ask about. He has a feeling that might be how Stiles hurt his ribs, and then he stops that train of thought immediately.

 

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come in?” Stiles says, calm and quiet from inside, and Derek blinks, then takes the steps and walks in.

 

The inside is better. There are no marks, no smells of wolfsbane or gunpowder like there were outside. Just them. Derek gets a faint trace of blood and decides to ignore it, just for a bit. Stiles is in the kitchen and he’s making lunch, and that’s… perfect. Derek can see a healing bruise on Stiles’ jaw and that’s the first thing he touches when Stiles walks up to him after lowering the heat beneath the pot on the stove.

 

Stiles winces. “Sorry,” is the first thing he says, instead of hello, or anything else.

 

Derek hugs him, wrapping one arm around Stiles’ back, squashing a perfectly content Oliver between them. “Later,” he says, and Stiles nods, chin digging into Derek’s shoulder.

 

“Dada!” He says merrily, and slaps Stiles’ cheek fondly.

 

“ _That_ is the single best thing I’ve ever heard.” Stiles says shakily, through a wince - Oliver managed to find another bruise, that one seemingly less healed - and pulls back to kiss Oliver’s forehead.

 

“I thought that was when I said yes when you asked me to marry you.” Derek says flatly.

 

“Sorry babe, that just got pushed down to second.” Stiles continues to beam at Oliver and Derek is happy that he gets to see it. “Let’s go finish lunch, huh puppy? Lunch?”

 

“ _Please_ don’t normalize that nickname,” Derek huffs.

 

“This nickname is happening,” Stiles insists, smirking at Derek before leaning in to smack a loud kiss on Oliver’s cheek. Oliver giggles, and Derek bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and giving Stiles what he wants. Stiles shrugs, kisses Derek on the cheek too, and then turns away from them to go back to the stove. Derek straps Oliver into his high chair, bravely facing the loud, pitiful whine it brings when he steps away to set the table while Stiles finishes making the food.

 

“Ollie, baby, hey, can you hear me?” Stiles says cheerfully from the stove. Oliver’s gaze leaves Derek, and he hiccups once before he quiets down, curiously looking over at Stiles. “How are we feeling about peas? We like peas, right? Yes?” Oliver hates peas. Stiles knows this.

 

Derek also knows this. “Did you seriously make the _one_ thing he hates after he hasn’t seen you in what probably feels like ages to him?”

 

“Psych! I made them with carrots, he likes peas fine when they come with carrots.”

 

“Why did I marry you?” Derek sighs quietly to himself, shaking his head.

 

Stiles makes a noise that indicates ‘I don’t know’, and then adds, “Look, babe. I asked, you said yes. You can only blame yourself.”

 

Derek shrugs and gives him a cursory “fuck off” little push, which only makes Stiles laugh.

 

“Yes!” Oliver repeats excitedly.

 

“Oh that is _so_ cool. I _love_ that.” Stiles turns around and walks over to Oliver in his high chair, wrapping his hands around Oliver’s small head and kissing his forehead. Derek turns off the stove and starts placing the pots on the trivets he laid on the table. They’re all DC themed and Derek hates them, but he hasn’t found any Marvel ones that he liked enough to replace them with. Stiles places a small teaspoon in Oliver’s left hand, although he knows Oliver will just hold onto it and eat with his free hand. They’re not sure if Oliver is right or left handed, so they’re trying both. Stiles has read somewhere that it’s good to just have him hold it, so Derek indulges it.

 

Oliver pointedly ignores the peas on his plate in favor of the carrots, rice, and pieces of chicken.

 

“I told you the peas weren’t going to happen,” Derek says smugly, gesturing his chin towards Oliver’s plate.

 

“Worth a try.” Stiles shrugs. “You all done, puppy? Hm?” He asks, once he sees Oliver’s stopped eating his food and is playing with what’s left of it instead. He turns to Derek. “I’ll go get him cleaned up and down for a nap, you can go take a shower and chill out.”

 

Derek clears their plates and cutlery (Oliver’s spoon has food all over it, but none of it made it into his mouth) and leaves the pots for Stiles, then heads upstairs to their bedroom for a much needed shower. He listens through the loud stream to Stiles talking to Oliver. He never uses baby-talk. No goo-goos or anything other than soft, fully formed words. Stiles did a lot of reading while their surrogate was pregnant. This was another thing he read about and liked. Derek uses Stiles’ towel to dry himself off, because it smells like Stiles. It smells strong enough that it probably needs to get washed. Together with Stiles’ personal scent he catches blood again and sees a few stains. He throws it immediately into the laundry basket and scowls at his own face in the mirror.

 

Stiles is reading to Oliver, who’s mostly asleep already, when Derek walks into the nursery. “He’s out,” he says, when Oliver’s eyes blink one final time and he drops off completely.

 

Stiles stops reading and closes the book. “You’re pissed.” He sighs, long and tired, and doesn’t look at Derek.

 

“I think I’m entitled to be.” Derek says, aware enough of Oliver’s slow, peaceful breathing to keep his voice to a whisper.

 

“You are.” Stiles gets up from where he was sitting on the floor next to Oliver’s crib. “Let’s go downstairs. Or -” Stiles looks over Derek, sees he’s in sweatpants and a worn old t-shirt. “Or we could take a nap too.”

 

“We’re talking about this.” Derek says, undeterred.

 

“We are. I never said we weren’t going to. You deserve an explanation that... I don’t actually have.” Stiles shrugs, and takes Derek with him out of Oliver’s room, leaving the door half-shut behind him. He keeps his hand on the small of Derek’s back. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a good explanation for what I did. It was wrong to do that to you. I know that. But… all I wanted was for you and Oliver and my dad to be gone and somewhere safe. Somewhere I _made_ safe, that no one knows about.”

 

“Not even me.” Derek adds bitterly. They walk into their bedroom, and sit carefully on the bed, each on their own side. They don’t touch yet.

 

“Sending you there was a spur of the moment thing,” Stiles starts, but Derek doesn’t let him finish.

 

“Setting it up was _extremely_ premeditated.” Derek accuses.

 

“Yes.” Stiles doesn’t deny and bows his head, staring at his hands.

 

“You didn’t think to tell me we had a safe house?”

 

“Safe _houses_ ,” Stiles admits quietly.

 

“There’s _more_?”

 

“Two more in Iowa, two on the east coast, three in Europe.” Stiles counts on his fingers, like it’s hard to keep track.

 

“Eight. We have _eight_ safe houses, none of which you thought to tell me about,” Derek bites out, hurt.

 

“I was going to. I was going to when I knew we had to use one, when we would all need to go together.” Stiles finally looks up at Derek again, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

 

“Why do we need _eight_?”

 

“Because I’m paranoid, mostly.” Stiles sighs. “But also because I’m now… a well known… person.”

 

“Who else knows?” Derek is the one to avert his gaze now, offended at the thought of being the only one who doesn’t know. He wonders if Scott knew, and then remembers that Kira also didn’t know. It helps him feel marginally better.

 

“Chris and Lydia, Isaac. Each of them only know about two or three at most. Lydia is in charge of the east coast ones, Chris on the west coast, Isaac the ones in Europe. Only my dad knows about all of them, and he’s the only one who knows about the ones in Iowa. One of them is his childhood home.”

 

“You’re selling at least half of those.”

 

“Derek -”

 

“You heard me.”

 

“I’m not selling them.”

 

“There’s paranoid and there’s insane, and you’re beyond both. You’re _selling them_.”

 

“I… can’t. They’ve been negotiated as Hale-McCall territories and… I just can’t.”

 

“Did you _bully_ packs into letting you build safe houses in their territories? _Have you lost your mind?_ ” Derek doesn’t even know what to do with this information. That Stiles did all this behind his back, without consulting him, is astounding. And hurtful.

 

“I didn’t _bully_ anyone! And I didn’t build any of them. I… bought them. I offered safe passage and/or welcome to anyone who needs a safe place on our territory, as well as free help with future negotiations between other packs, should they need me. I _negotiated_. That’s my job.”

 

Derek gets off the bed, starts walking up and down the room. “You should have stayed in the FBI,” he says, meanly. He knows that was one of the hardest decisions Stiles ever made.

 

Stiles stares at him, stunned, for a good long moment. “ _Wow_ , okay, someone needs a timeout. I’m going to the cabin, you can stew here for a bit until you regain enough brain power to argue like an adult.” He then stands up too, and stalks past Derek, who stands still, shocked.

 

“You’re not getting out of this!” He raises his voice, following Stiles out the room, listening to him rushing down the stairs. Oliver whines a little in his nursery, and that makes both of them pause.

 

Stiles half turns to face Derek, who’s looking down at him from the top of the stairs. “I didn’t say I was, and I wasn’t trying to. But you need to cool down, before you say something _else_ you’ll regret.”

 

Derek opens his mouth to speak and closes it, then settles for a dark scowl. He rolls his neck, and takes a deep breath. Stiles waits, still turned to him. “I didn’t mean -”

 

“You did, because you’re angry, and I understand. But you’re going to stay here with Oliver for a bit, and I’m going to go and get some work done, until we can talk. We can argue, but we’re not going to fight. Okay? Disagreeing is fine. Hurting each other is not.” Stiles repeats something the therapist they had gone to see together told them (once they were each settled enough with themselves). Oliver makes more fussing noises from inside his room, and Derek turns his head away from Stiles finally. “I’ll be back for dinner, and then we’ll put Oliver down for the night, and we can try talking again. Is that okay with you?”

 

Derek bites the inside of his cheek. “You don’t… you don’t have to _go_ ,” he says eventually. “You forced _me_ away for almost three days.”

 

“And I’m _sorry_ for doing that. I shouldn’t have done it the way I did. You deserve better, and I realize that.”

 

“Just… just be downstairs and I’ll be upstairs.” Stiles’ home office is just off their living room, and Derek’s is upstairs, next to Oliver’s room. Derek’s mostly contains more books, and a reading nook. Derek keeps his laptop there but doesn’t sit there very often.

 

“That’s what you want?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then that’s what I’ll do. Want me to make dinner?”

 

“No, I’ll do it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Derek takes a deep breath, and then another one, closing his eyes. He lets the scents of home and family settle him. “Okay.”

 

Stiles takes that as his cue to take the last four steps down and disappears into the living room. Derek listens to the office door closing, then waits at the top of the stairs until he hears John pick up Stiles’ call. He tunes out after that to give them privacy, and goes into Oliver’s room to try and lull him back to sleep. Oliver is down for almost two hours, and when he wakes Derek moves into his room, sitting with him on the floor, watching him play. He only goes downstairs again with Oliver on his hip when he can hear Stiles come out of his office and start working in the kitchen.

 

“I said I’d do it.”

 

“I got bored. And hungry.”

 

Derek takes the pot Stiles is holding out of Stiles’ grip, and replaces it with Oliver. “Go play with him. I’m making dinner.” Derek can hear Stiles’ teeth grinding, but he nods, and turns on his 1000 megawatt smile when he looks at Oliver. Derek watches Stiles press his nose to the side of Oliver’s face, one hand holding the back of Oliver’s head to keep him close, the other wrapped firmly around Oliver’s butt, holding him up.

 

“Let’s go play. What do you want to play with? Come on, show me. Point. Yeah, like that, that’s right! Okay, Duplo it is,” Stiles talks quietly, lips brushing against the top of Oliver’s head.

 

Derek listens to Stiles’ idle chatter and Oliver’s babbling answers while he makes dinner. He’s calmer, like Stiles said he’d be, and knowing Stiles is in the next room with Oliver helps him settle down further. “Dinner’s ready,” he says, once he’s done setting the table.

 

“You gotta come see what we made and be very amazed by it first,” Stiles replies from the living room.

 

Derek walks over and looks at the floor where Stiles is sitting with his legs crossed and Oliver standing on his lap, Stiles helping him place one last piece on the tall tower they built. “Wow, that’s awesome, Ollie!” He says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. Oliver beams at him, proud of his creation. He rewards Derek’s enthusiasm with an excited “dada!”

 

“He picked the colors, and the order.” Stiles says proudly. All the pieces are blue and red, and they alternate. “Because he’s a smart boy with good tastes,” he whispers into Oliver’s neck, then play-bites him. Like he’s so cute Stiles could eat him. Oliver laughs and squirms away and then back into Stiles’ hold.

 

“Or colorblind, possibly,” Derek jokes. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”

 

“Don’t blaspheme, this child is perfect,” Stiles chides lightly. He lifts Oliver and helps him stand up stable on the floor while he stands himself, then takes his hand, walking slowly, hunched over a bit into the kitchen, followed by Derek.  

 

They eat mostly quietly, peaceful. Once Oliver seems to be done, Stiles gets up to take care of him. “Oh, _wow_ , okay, let’s go, stinky butt,” he says lightly, picking Oliver up. “I’ll take bath duty.”

 

“Thanks,” Derek says with a chuckle. He clears up dinner, doesn’t mind the kitchen work while he listens to Stiles just… being with Oliver. He joins them upstairs when he’s done, just in time to watch Stiles finish dressing Oliver in his pajamas and try to finger-comb his hair into something that won’t be an absolute mess when he wakes up tomorrow. Stiles hands him over without word, letting Derek say his goodnight before placing Oliver in the crib. He reaches out to them, and Stiles lowers one of the walls of the crib and sits next to it.

 

“We’re still here, baby. Can’t get rid of us.” Stiles takes Oliver’s small hand in his, running his thumb over his fingers.

 

Derek sits behind him and wraps himself around Stiles’ back, resting his chin on his shoulder. “We’re still talking about it,” he says, to make sure Stiles doesn’t think he’s off the hook.

 

“I didn’t think you changed your mind just because watching me with our baby gets you hot,” Stiles teases.

 

Derek pokes his sides, making him jump. Oliver blinks at them tiredly.

 

“My dad’s off duty tomorrow. He said he’ll come take Oliver for the morning so we can do it the right way.”

 

Derek nods, chin digging into Stiles’ shoulder. “Sounds good.” He lets go of Stiles slowly and rubs his cheek against Stiles’ on his way up. “Movie?”

 

“Queue it up, I'll be down when he's out.”

 

They're both exhausted, mostly emotionally, so they fall asleep on each other an hour into the movie. Derek disentangles them carefully, then shakes Stiles gently to wake him. “You’re big spoon for two months. You promised.”

 

“I promised however long you want,” Stiles corrects drowsily.

 

“I’ll cash in on that,” Derek warns. He sighs, long and tired. “I’m still mad.” He buries his face in Stiles’ neck, closing his eyes and focusing on his scent. It’s been… changing. It has elements it didn’t have before that Derek doesn’t know how to label yet.

 

“I know,” Stiles says quietly, nodding slowly. “I know it’s early, but do you maybe wanna go to bed?”

 

“Ugh, _yes please_ ,” Derek groans. He missed their bed. He straightens up and stretches, twisting his back to the right and then left, then pulls Stiles with him to stand, both of them going around, putting toys away, turning off lights, and finally taking the stairs to the second floor.

 

Stiles stands nervously at his side of the bed, biting his lip. “Don’t freak out,” he asks.

 

“What am I _definitely_ going to freak out about?” Derek counters, pouting a little.

 

Stiles sighs and takes a fortifying breath before he slowly takes off his shirt, revealing bruised ribs and a fresh, albeit bandaged, bullet wound. “Please don’t freak out.”

 

Derek presses the base of his palms against his eyes, trying to do what Stiles asked in the purpose of not starting a fight, so they can go to sleep. “I guess _you’re_ what happened to the shed?” He says instead of what he wants to.

 

“...Yeah.” Stiles can’t look Derek in the eye again.

 

“Was it the gunshot or did someone throw you against it?”

 

“Someone threw me against it and then shot me,” Stiles explains reluctantly. “Scott almost killed him but I stopped him in time.”

 

Derek lifts the covers and sits down, tired, Stiles following him. The only light in the room is the soft, yellow light from both their reading lamps, and Derek looks over Stiles’ torso again. “Are you in pain?”

 

“Only a little, and _don’t you dare_ pain-drain me,” Stiles orders. “I know you want to, but that’s not how being little spoon works. I’m _fine_ ,” he insists.

 

Derek lies down and Stiles immediately joins and wraps himself around Derek’s back, placing one leg over Derek’s thigh, enveloping him entirely.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to send you away alone. I was… winging it. They were specifically after the kids, and I needed them out of the equation,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s hair.

 

“I could have stayed, you could’ve taken Ollie,” Derek says, just as quiet, but still biting.

 

“They were armed to kill werewolves. Not me.” Stiles tightens his hold on Derek, like that would shield him from the world.

 

“What are you?” Derek wonders. He wants to look at Stiles, but Stiles is holding him just right, so he doesn’t move.

 

“I don’t know yet. I’m working on it.” Stiles presses his nose against the back of Derek’s neck, kissing there. Between this breath and the next, they both fall asleep. They wake up to sharp knocks on their front door.

 

“It’s your dad,” Derek says hazily, surprised.

 

“Smart man, my dad.” Stiles nods, complimenting his dad on autopilot, still mostly asleep, nose rubbing against the back of Derek’s neck. He’s still pressed close against Derek’s back, arm across Derek’s chest to keep him where he is.

 

Derek blinks and turns in Stiles’ hold, and wrinkles his nose, ducking under Stiles’ chin when John’s voice floats from the outside.

 

“I know you can hear me, Derek. Get up, put on some pants, and come give me my grandson,” John demands. Derek repeats it to Stiles.

 

Stiles allows Derek to put some space between them and finally lets him go so they can both roll out of bed. “I’ll get the coffee machine going,” Stiles says, voice hoarse with sleep.

 

“I’ll get Ollie.”

 

Stiles puts on a shirt and goes downstairs to let his dad in, and Derek goes into the nursery to carefully pick up a sleeping Oliver, waking him gently. He whines drowsily and Derek relates so deeply that he whines too. He decides to change Oliver’s diaper, just to get that done, and ends up dressing him for the day too before he takes Oliver with him downstairs.

 

The coffee machine is whirring away in the kitchen, where Stiles and John are sitting. Derek sits down slowly, letting Oliver lean down and go back to sleep on his chest. “I was already wearing pants.”

 

John looks surprised by that, and Derek’s ears redden. Stiles snorts. “Stiles’ ribs are busted up, so that wasn’t really on the table,” Derek explains, anticipating John’s displeasure with the knowledge.

 

John wrinkles his nose. “Nice,” he comments.

 

“Don’t… do this right now, I’m _so_ not awake enough,” Stiles whines. The coffee machine clicks to announce the coffee’s ready, the smell already permeating the whole room. Stiles stands and gets three mugs from the cupboard. He puts cream in Derek’s, sugar in his dad’s, and both in his own mug, then places his dad’s in front of John before getting the other two. “You’re only here to take Ollie so Derek and I can fight in peace. You and I can fight _again_ once that’s done.”

 

John grinds his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine,” he agrees, begrudgingly. He lets his arms down just so he can get his coffee, sighing almost involuntarily when he takes a sip. “Sometimes it’s good to have kids. Eventually they learn how to make your coffee _just_ right.”

 

“Glad I can be of use.” Stiles rolls his eyes, just visible over the rim of his own mug. “Is Melissa okay with you taking Oliver?”

 

“She’s working the morning shift anyway.” John shrugs. “Parrish is covering for me. _Again_.”

 

“I didn’t _ask you_ to come this early,” Stiles protests. “I didn’t really ask you to come at all!”

 

“You strongly implied that it’d be helpful if I _did_ , so here I am.”

 

“Okay, but not at 6:30am,” Stiles argues.

 

“Take it or leave it.”

 

“You forced us to take it,” Stiles complains. “ _And_ prevented me from waking Derek up with a blowjob.”

 

“STILES!” John and Derek protest loudly, both outraged, for different reasons. Oliver startles, then settles back down when Derek seems to do the same. He looks between Derek and John curiously for a moment, then closes his eyes again.

 

“Oliver is listening!” Derek chides.

 

“Oliver has no concept of words beyond “dada” and “yes” at the moment.” Stiles shrugs.

 

“ _I_ am listening,” John says, still visibly shaken.

 

“You went there first with the pants comment,” Stiles says, pointing an accusing finger at his dad. Derek is still flushed a deep red, looking away from them.

 

“I wasn’t _explicit_ ,” John complains.

 

“You raised me in a police station. You can blame yourself.” Stiles’ eyes shut, still sleepy, as he takes another sip of his coffee.

 

“I never talked like that around you!”

 

“Your deputies did,” Stiles explains, bored.

 

John flushes. “Fair enough,” he concedes.

 

“And you want _me_ to be a cop?” Derek asks, doubtful.

 

Stiles perks up, suddenly alert, blinking away the sleepiness. “What’s that about you being a cop?”

 

“I think it’s a good fit,” John says sagely, a little defensive.

 

“I agree, just, what? When did you talk about this?”

 

“On our way home. Derek promised he’ll look into it,” John says, and his tone has a sharp edge, like he’s challenging Derek to deny it.

 

Derek takes it. “I didn’t _promise_.”

 

“You said you’d do it, you’re an honorable man, your word is your bond, yada yada.” John waves him off.

 

“You _should_ look into it.” Stiles nods. “I’ll make sure he does,” he promises John.

 

Derek huffs and looks up at the ceiling like it’ll have answers. “Why did I marry into this family?”

 

“Because I asked you to and you find me irresistible.”

 

“Can’t really see the appeal anymore,” Derek says drily.

 

“You are _all. About. This. Ass,_ ” Stiles argues, shaking his head.

 

“Okay, that’s enough for me.” John drains his mug in one long gulp and places it on the table. “Give me my grandson, I’m out of here.” He stands in front of Derek with his arms outstretched. “Ollie, come on kiddo,” he urges. Oliver blinks tiredly at Derek, who’s holding him up and handing him over to John. “Fun time with grandpa, right?” John says, tone light. Oliver spares him a smile and then snuggles right up to John’s chest instead, burying his face in John’s neck.

 

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles says sincerely, reaching out a hand to touch John’s elbow.

 

“Anytime, boys.” John bounces Oliver a little, trying to wake him, and Oliver just grumbles unhappily at him, making John shake his head. “Fine. You can go back to sleep at my house. I’ll see you later, guys.”

 

“See you later, John,” Derek says, reaching out a hand to touch Oliver one last time.

 

Stiles waits until he hears John’s car start outside before he says anything. “So. No baby to interrupt. You wanna go first?”

 

“I’m mad about being left in the dark, and about you forcing me away.”

 

“I understand. You’re right to be angry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“Why did you?”

 

“I panicked. I only have one husband, one baby, and one dad, two of which were being targeted directly.” Stiles counts on his fingers. “That’s the whole truth. I panicked,” he admits.

 

“That’s not a reason to hide things from me. You had _a lot_ of time to tell me about the safe houses, for one.”

 

Stiles pauses to think. “I knew you’d be angry, because you like facing things head-on, but I also knew we needed them.”

 

“We don’t need _eight_ ,” Derek argues.

 

“I’ve been travelling to a lot of places, and people know who I am, where I’m from, and who’s important to me. Alphas don’t appreciate negotiators that rule against them. Hunters don’t appreciate emissaries that help outside packs that they try to target. They also don’t like emissaries that are too strong,” Stiles lists, tone sincere. “The only community who’s _not_ likely to come after me are emissaries.”

 

Derek blinks at him a few times, taking in what Stiles said. “Why would you attract that much attention?” he asks eventually. It doesn’t really compute.

 

“I… have been everywhere to learn a little bit of everything. I study things no one has studied in years, and I combine things no one’s combined before just because I feel like it. That attracts attention. Good and bad.” Stiles’ face is serious and candid, and he faces Derek head on. He’s holding his now empty coffee cup between both his hands, like he’s trying to hold onto the heat it produced before, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm.

 

“When are you flying out again?”

 

Stiles blinks, surprised. “Uh, um. Let me check,” he stutters, then lets go of the mug to check his phone. He taps it a few times, brows furrowed in concentration.

 

Derek’s phone pings, and the notification says “Stiles Stilinski-Hale has shared his calendar with you!”. Derek unlocks the screen and sees different colored blocks he’s not quite sure about, and he flicks through until he finds one that says “FLIGHT FROM LAX” and gets cut off. It’s two weeks from now.

 

“I should have done that ages ago,” Stiles says apologetically. “The color code is pretty simple, red is family stuff, blue is phone calls, yellow is research assignments, green is flights.”

 

There are barely any empty white blocks on Stiles’ calendar, but Derek’s relieved to see there’s a lot of red. He taps one, curious. It says “GO MAKE LUNCH” and Derek just laughs. “You need a reminder to go and make lunch?”

 

“Did you look at the color of the block above that one?”

 

It’s yellow. Stiles tends to get distracted when he’s researching. “Fair,” Derek admits. He studies the calendar some more. “It’s very… full.”

 

“Most of it is reminders to do things on time. I could probably use a better app to manage that, but I got used to using the calendar.” Stiles reddens a little. He’s still embarrassed about his ADHD, for a reason Derek doesn’t comprehend. “Are you still angry?” Stiles asks, a little timid.

 

Derek considers it and realizes he doesn’t have the energy or the will to be angry anymore. “A little. I can’t say I’m happy with what happened, but you apologized, and you get why it was wrong, so there’s no point in me still being angry with you. I just need you to promise not to do that again.”

 

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” Stiles admits. “I can promise to explain more if it happens again,” he says, like it makes for a good compromise.

 

“ _No_ , the problem is both that you didn’t explain yourself _and_ that you went into a dangerous situation alone,” Derek argues.

 

“I… I just _can’t_ promise that won’t happen again, okay? I can’t. I can’t have you running around in a fight because it... distracts me,” Stiles says, a little desperate. “We owe it to Oliver to have at least one of his parents safe, can you agree on that?”

 

Derek’s breath is knocked out of him. “Yes,” he says quietly. “You want that to be me.”

 

“I… prefer it if it’s you, yes.” Stiles doesn’t look at him, instead studying the bottom of his coffee mug intensely.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m _selfish_ , okay? Can I be selfish about that?” It sounds like Stiles didn’t want to say it, but it escaped him and he’s angry about it.

 

“Oliver deserves two parents,” is all Derek says in response, too shocked they’re having this conversation in the first place to react.

 

“One is better than none, I know you can agree on _that_ ,” Stiles says darkly, and Derek’s breath stops. That’s a mean reference, and they both know it.

 

“Who needs a timeout _now_?” Derek asks petulantly.

 

“Probably me, but I’m not taking it, because you _can_ agree on that. You know I’m right,” Stiles insists, eyes boring into Derek’s.

 

“You need to go back to the therapist and get rid of that martyr act,” Derek says angrily.

 

“Who told you I stopped going?” Stiles leans back in his chair, his body language righteous. Derek blinks at him again, surprised. “I talk to her on the phone once a week.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? _Why_ do you keep hiding things from me?”

 

“Because I want things to be normal, and until they are, I’m perfectly willing to _pretend_ they are.”

 

“You know what’ll make things _normal_ ? If you stopped flying out every month, if you stopped putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, if you found literally _anything else_ to put that huge brain of yours to use for!” Derek finds himself raising his voice, desperate. “You could be working on your doctorate right now, like Lydia - _with_ Lydia - if you’d gone to any of the _four_ ivy league universities you got into, or you could be head of a division in the FBI if you stayed, but you’re _here_ , doing… I _don’t know_ what you’re doing!”

 

When Derek finishes, Stiles is staring at him with wide eyes, and the silence is deafening. Derek is breathing like he’s been running for two hours and Stiles doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

 

“You’re pretty focused on the FBI thing. Why is that?” Stiles asks eventually. “You mentioned it yesterday, here it is again. _Why_ does it bother you that I quit?” His tone is almost clinically calm, but Derek can tell that it’s costing him to keep it like that.

 

“Because I don’t _understand_ why you did it. And I’m afraid I’m the reason.”

 

“You are,” Stiles says easily, muscles relaxing. “But not for the reason you think. Whatever self-deprecating horror story your brain managed to cook up, that’s not it.”

 

Derek grinds his teeth. “Enlighten me then.”

 

“I wanted to marry you, and have a family with you, and the FBI didn’t fit into that picture. When I signed up, I didn’t think you’d be in my life. I didn’t think _anyone_ would be in my life. I thought I’d make a clean cut, leave Beacon Hills, convince my dad to move to Washington, be done with the whole thing.” Stiles stops, like he’s rethinking something. “Scott mattered, Scott will _always_ matter, but not enough to stay for him. That’s why I broke up with Lydia. But then, first day of class, there you are. Murder suspect. I did the most embarrassing spit take all over the girl sitting in front of me.”

 

Derek keeps quiet, barely keeping a smile off his lips. He can imagine it happening but it’s not the end of the story.

 

“When I got you off the suspect list, I figured I can’t be on that side of things. I’m in-the-know, and I can’t suddenly forget about it. You came back into my life and I couldn’t… ignore that. I didn’t want to. I wanted you to keep being in my life.” Stiles pauses and sighs. “And it worked, for a while. For two years, when I could still call you my boyfriend and be satisfied with it.” Stiles looks to the side, like he can’t face his own words. “But you made it clear you’re serious, not going anywhere. And I was too. And that didn’t go well with staying there. For me or you. Wolves need a house. A territory. They’re unmoored when they don’t have one, and you had one waiting for you here. Scott may be an alpha, but this territory isn’t really his.”

 

“How did you know that? Who told you that’s what I wanted?” Derek pauses, thoughtful. “Is that what _you_ wanted?” He admits to himself that he’s bitter. It doesn’t sound like a good enough reason to him, and he doesn’t understand how it was a good enough reason for Stiles.

 

“If that wasn’t what I wanted we wouldn’t be here, Derek.” Stiles says, with finality and a certainty that Derek hasn’t heard from him in a long time. “Being in the program didn’t stop me from researching other things. Deaton called what I had a spark and it was a stupid word to use. I don’t _have_ a spark and I’m _not_ a spark, as far as I can tell. I’m still looking into it. But the nemeton tied me to this territory and I had to know what that meant. I’m not researching things and flying all over the world because I have a death wish. I don’t _want_ to be away all the time. I’m doing all that so I can kill that fucking thing and nurture a new one, a healthy one. To do that I have to become a druid, and I have to be a very, _very_ powerful one.”

 

“Why is that up to you? Can’t Deaton do it?” Derek knows it’s childish, but nonetheless, he wishes Stiles wouldn’t keep taking all these things on himself.

 

“Derek, babe, Deaton can almost be considered a hack. Your mom probably took him because she didn’t _want_ a competent druid. She just wanted a low-level one to keep an eye out because she was strong enough on her own. The… _Paige_ … thing,” Stiles says carefully and pauses, swallowing nervously. Derek’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t say or do anything else. Derek hated having that conversation with Stiles, and hated it more when Stiles revealed Peter had already told him about what was one of the most painful moments of his life. “It threw a wrench in her plans. It fed the nemeton the wrong kind of energy.” Stiles stops like he’s thinking about something, and then continues. “It’s _not_ your fault. You couldn’t have known, and you were pulled there without your knowledge by things that were beyond your comprehension,” Stiles pauses again to stare at Derek. “Deaton wasn’t strong or smart enough to take care of it on time, so it attracted all kinds of shit. Before he knew it, most of the Hale pack was killed, and two of the remaining survivors fled the territory. He didn’t think you’d come back. He sent Cora away. God knows why he didn’t send her to you,” Stiles rolls his eyes, like he still can’t believe it.

 

“ _Deaton_ sent Cora away?” Derek barely contains his anger.

 

Stiles places a hand on Derek’s clenched fist on the table. “She doesn’t know; she doesn’t remember. But I looked into it. He’s the one who sent her to South America,” Stiles confirms. “He thought no one would bother figuring it out. Tough luck.” Stiles says, sarcastic. “Anyway, he never was and never will be competent enough to take care of that thing. Tying Scott, Allison and I to it could have easily killed us on the spot. It _did_ kill Allison,” He continues. He sounds distant, like he doesn’t want to feel what the words make him feel. “I already planted a new one, to start healing the forest. It’s your mom’s tree,” he says as an afterthought.

 

Derek frowns, confused. “My mom’s tree?”

 

“We planted those trees in memory of your family. I… did a little something extra to your mom’s tree. Where we buried her talons.” Stiles seems hesitant, like he’s afraid of Derek’s reaction, but braves on. “She was _deeply_ connected to the territory. She bled on it, she gave birth on it, she killed on it. She gave to it and received in turn. I needed… her help,” he says carefully. “There’s more to be done. I want to do some things no one has done here in ten generations, and that’s going to take time because I need to learn how.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Derek tries. He doesn’t ask what Stiles intends to do. For once, he thinks he doesn’t want to know.

 

“No. But I want to,” Stiles says easily.

 

“What if _I_ don’t want you to?” Derek challenges.

 

“Tough luck, I’m already working on it.” Stiles shrugs, and reaches his arms out, turning them this way and that to show off his tattoos.

 

“As an alpha of the territory, don’t I get a say?”

 

Stiles chuckles. “You’re not the only alpha of this territory,” he reminds Derek.

 

“Scott _approved_ this?” Derek asks, doubtful.

 

“Of course not. I never asked him.”

 

“Aren’t you _supposed_ to?”

 

“Not really. An emissary is expected to do what’s best for the territory.”

 

“You’re making shit up,” Derek accuses. It can’t be that simple.

 

“Not this time, actually. It’s real. Emissaries _can_ go against the alpha’s wishes. It’s not _recommended_ , but an emissary that’s good enough can sway the alpha usually. Also one of the reasons your mom didn’t want a strong emissary, I assume.”

 

“She didn’t like it when people disagreed with her,” Derek allows. He remembers the fights she used to have with Peter and other alphas from other packs. He’d always run into his room and stay there until the anger dissipated or he’d hear Peter’s door slam across the hallway from his.

 

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Stiles says with a fond smile.

 

“Don’t try and play that with me, you know you’re worse.” Derek scoffs, unimpressed with Stiles’ accusations.

 

“Do I _ever_. I don’t know how we stopped arguing long enough to get married.” Stiles raises a brow.

 

“We agreed on _that_ part.” Derek shrugs, can’t help a smile of his own.

 

“Yeah we did.” Stiles smiles again, looking at Derek. He takes a deep breath and leans his elbows on the table, bringing himself closer to Derek. “So where do we stand now?”

 

“You’ve given me more information than you have in the entire time we’ve lived here. So I think we’re okay for now. But I need to know you’ll keep sharing.”

 

“That’s reasonable.” Stiles bites his bottom lip, thinking. “But I want you to consider two things: one - old habits die hard; two - sometimes not telling _is_ protection.”

 

“Those aren’t valid.” Derek shakes his head, refusing to agree to Stiles’ backwards way of getting out of what Derek’s asking of him.

 

“Look, I’ll try not to. But I can’t promise it won’t ever happen again.” Stiles stands and turns to the fridge. “I’m hungry. Breakfast?” He asks, his head hidden by one of the fridge doors.

 

“You’re not as clever as you think, trying to get out of this,” Derek says. He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to be intimidating when Stiles finally emerges with a few eggs, herbs and butter for his signature scrambled eggs.

 

“I’m sorry, Derek, but I just… I don’t want to make a promise I might break. That’s not how I do things.” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek as he places the eggs carefully on the marbled counter next to the stove top. “I don’t want to make _you_ a promise I might _have_ to break. Can you please consider that?”

 

“You’re not really leaving me a choice.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Let me think about it.”

 

“That’s fair,” Stiles allows, and turns back towards the cabinets to get a bowl to whisk the eggs in, and a pan. “Get some veggies,” he requests, pointing at the general direction of the fridge.

 

“It’s weird how you and your dad say things the exact same way,” Derek comments, but gets up to walk over to the fridge anyway.

 

“We’re related, I’d say it’s not _that_ weird,” Stiles says fondly. He cracks four eggs into the bowl and whisks them with the experienced ease of someone who has done this hundreds of times. “What did I say that sounds like him?” He chops the herbs and throws them into the bowl, whisking the eggs a few more times.

 

“Get some veggies,” Derek says, deepening his voice, even though John’s voice isn’t much deeper than his. It’s the authority in it that gives the illusion of a deeper voice.

 

Stiles laughs. “He doesn’t sound like that,” he dismisses. “And I don’t either!”

 

“It’s the Sheriff Voice,” Derek explains.

 

“I’m not a sheriff,” Stiles says quietly, frowning as he pours the eggs into the heated pan.

 

“You could be,” Derek says solemnly.

 

“We’re not _both_ going to be cops, we’ll need to hire a third parent,” Stiles protests.

 

“Who says _I’m_ going to be a cop?”

 

“I do. And so does my dad, in his ‘Sheriff voice’,” Stiles says with a chuckle. He stirs the eggs in the pan and lets them rest for a moment while he takes out two plates before he pours two perfect portions of scrambled eggs into each.

 

“You’re not going to let that one go, are you?” Derek laments.

 

“Not for a while, no,” Stiles confirms, laughing. He sets both plates on the table and then grabs four slices of bread to put in the toaster. They both walk around each other to set the table and then sit down to eat. “So about that blowjob,” Stiles says casually just when Derek has taken a bite, knowing he’s going to cause Derek to choke on it.

 

Derek coughs a few times until he gets his breath back and scowls. “If you’re trying to kill me, there are faster ways.”

 

“I’m well aware,” Stiles says, a little less casual. “But no, I was referring to plans following breakfast. My dad won’t bring Ollie back until lunch at the earliest, so, you know. We’ve got some time. To ourselves.”

 

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood,” Derek says, looking at his plate.

 

“Are you serious?” Stiles pauses for a moment, waiting for Derek to look at him. “No, I really can’t tell, are you being sarcastic or serious right now?” He sounds worried, and Derek can see out of the corner of his eye that Stiles is craning his neck to try and gauge Derek’s expression.

 

Derek breaks and starts snickering. “I’m always in the mood, you idiot,” he says fondly, between chuckles.

 

“I mean, you’re not when you’re mad at me, so I thought I’d ask.” Stiles is flushed red, still a few remnants of nervousness in his scent.

 

“I’m not mad anymore,” Derek says quietly. When Stiles perks up a little, he clarifies: “I’m not mad right now because we talked, but if you pull this shit again I’m taking the kid and moving to your dad’s.”

 

“He’ll take you,” Stiles says easily, happy. “And hide you until I give him an explanation that satisfies him. He’s very protective of you.”

 

Derek swallows and doesn’t say anything, because he’s just joking, but Stiles obviously isn’t.

 

“Lighten up, orgasms are in your future,” Stiles teases when he sees Derek’s grown serious and pensive, reaching out a foot to touch Derek’s leg.

 

“They better be,” Derek teases back, gracing Stiles with a half-smile.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

John ends up bringing Oliver back later that afternoon, after he’s had his nap and after Derek and Stiles had theirs. He doesn’t comment on how Stiles looks when he opens the door, just hands Oliver over to Stiles with an eye roll and one last kiss to Oliver’s forehead. “You guys okay now?”

 

“Think so. He threatened to take Oliver and move in with you if I pull this kind of crap again.” Stiles shrugs.

 

John raises his voice only a little, not sure where Derek is at the moment, when he says “Please do that. You can take his old room.”

 

Derek laughs from his spot on the couch in the living room. “Thanks, John.”

 

“Alright, you be good, okay?”

 

“Was that for me or for the baby?”

 

“Definitely you,” John says with a smile and a clap on Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“Doing my best,” Stiles says sincerely.

 

“I know,” John assures him, moving his hand to cradle Stiles’ face. “All in all, could be worse.”

 

Stiles laughs. “Thanks a lot.”

 

John lets go of him and takes a step back over the threshold. “See you boys tomorrow for dinner.”

 

Derek says goodbye from where he’s still sitting and Stiles does too, gently waving Oliver’s hand for him to say goodbye too. He closes the door behind John and walks to the living room, plopping down next to Derek with Oliver in his lap. Then he freezes, shivering, and Derek doesn’t understand at first. “What’s going on?”

 

“Someone just walked in through territory lines that I don’t want in,” Stiles says gravely. “Stay here with Oliver.” He hands Oliver over to Derek gently, Oliver looking a little surprised but not unhappy about the change.

 

“Stiles, we _just_ talked about this, don’t do this,” Derek argues, angry. Oliver senses the suddenly tense air and fusses a little in Derek’s hold.

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to be there. It’s not dangerous. I just don’t want him here,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice level.

 

“ _Him_? Who’s him?” Derek asks, suspicious. He wraps Oliver with one arm almost automatically to relax him.

 

“Derek… just, please stay here. I don’t want Oliver around for whatever is going to happen, and someone has to stay with him, and I’m going. Right now. Okay? Do you trust me?” Stiles looks at him imploringly, nervously biting his bottom lip.

 

Derek can tell Stiles doesn’t really want to do this to him again, but genuinely feels like he has to. His nostrils flare, and he’s almost snarling. “Against better judgement, yes.”

 

“Then stay here with Oliver. Please,” Stiles is almost begging. He keeps looking at the front door.

 

“Are you calling Scott for backup?” He has a feeling the answer will be no, but it’s worth a try.

 

“Hell no,” Stiles says seriously. “That would get real ugly, real fast. I don’t want either of you near. I don’t need back up because it’s _not_ dangerous. I wouldn’t lie to you about it. I need to go before they get to the house.”

 

Derek notes the sudden use of ‘they’ instead of ‘him’ but doesn’t ask. “Go.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says honestly, sighing.

 

“Just go, Stiles.”

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Stiles catches up with Peter next to where the old Hale house once stood, where instead there’s now ten young trees planted in a circle, surrounded by wolfsbane plants. “Leave.”

 

“I just wanted to congratulate you on the birth of your son,” Peter says, raising his hands like it’ll make him seem more innocent.

 

“You’re about a year too late, and also unwelcome. Leave before I make you. Before _Scott_ realizes you’re here, and definitely before Derek does.” Stiles makes a shooing motion, teeth grinding.

 

“Last time I left on good terms,” Peter says.

 

“Yes, but since then I’ve heard things, I’ve cleaned up messes you left, and you’re an alpha again. I know exactly how it happened. Derek doesn’t. _Leave_.” Stiles feels a little like a broken record but he’s on borrowed time until Derek figures out Peter is close.

 

“Derek doesn’t know?” Peter sounds genuinely surprised about that.

 

“No. He doesn’t need to know the uncle who murdered his sister is out there murdering other people’s sisters,” Stiles says quietly.

 

“So you won’t let me meet him?” Peter tilts his head, seeming to consider something. Stiles doesn’t really care what that is.

 

“I _will not_ hesitate to kill you if you try and go near our house. Do you understand?” He stares blankly at Peter.

 

“I’ve heard things too, Stiles. I know those tattoos.” Peter looks up and down Stiles’ arms. The tattoos go up to his elbows. They'll probably cover his back by the time he's done.

 

“So _that’s_ why you’re here. Fuck off, Peter. Find someone else without integrity.” Stiles makes to turn away from him, dismissive.

 

“We’re family, Stiles.”

 

“We are absolutely _no such thing_ ,” Stiles says vehemently, angry, turning back to face Peter.

 

“We _are_ whether you like it or not.” Peter sounds just as slick as always, smug like he’s won already.

 

“I don’t owe you anything. You’re lucky I’m not ridding the world of your existence right now. What I _do_ owe, to _Derek_ , is not to kill you _here_. I will definitely drag you out of the territory by your hair and kill you there,” Stiles threatens again, squaring his shoulders.

 

“Your morals have definitely loosened,” Peter says, and he sounds a little less smug than he did before, until he suddenly smiles. “Hello, nephew. Oh, and grand-nephew! How nice!”

 

Stiles’ heart falls as he turns to see Derek behind him, Oliver in his arms, looking curious.

 

“Peter,” Derek says faintly. He’s surprised, and wary. They haven’t seen Peter in almost a decade.

 

“I _told_ you to stay home, Derek!” Stiles says, disappointed. He closes his eyes to help himself focus.

 

“I smelled him.” Derek still sounds unsure, like he can’t quite gauge the situation. He can sense just how tense Stiles is and doesn’t understand.

 

“So you decided to _bring Oliver with you_?” Stiles says, angry.

 

“He wouldn’t hurt him,” Derek says, with conviction that Stiles hates. So trusting. “And I couldn’t really leave him alone.”

 

“Oh? Are you sure he wouldn’t hurt him?” Stiles asks, a little sarcastic, more upset.

 

“What do you know that I don’t?” Derek sounds like he’s had a rug pulled out from under him, gleaning from Stiles’ reaction that something changed.

 

“He’s killed another alpha. A young woman, around my age. New York,” Stiles says bluntly.

 

Derek bristles, angry. He hugs Oliver closer, shielding him away. He shifts into his beta face, Oliver immediately tries to grab his mutton chops.

 

“Fatherhood suits you, Derek.” Peter smirks at both of them, and makes as if to move towards them.

 

Stiles doesn’t intend to let that happen, and walks over to Peter. Derek reaches out an arm as if to stop him, but Stiles is there in seconds, by sheer determination, shoving Peter, making him fly back into the trunk of a huge tree. It splinters from the force of the hit. “ _Leave. Now._ ” He turns to Derek. “You too,” he says, eyes begging Derek to comply.

 

“Stiles -” Derek’s face is human again. He looks torn between worry, anger and frustration. There’s also some wonder. That’s something he hasn’t seen Stiles do before.

 

“I don’t want you to see me doing this, _if_ I have to do this. Just go home,” Stiles asks again, a little resigned.

 

Peter is rising slowly to his feet, shaking his head and arms slowly. “That’s new,” he comments lightly.

 

“Got a bunch of other tricks up my sleeve you don’t want to see,” Stiles says confidently. His tone has a sharp edge to it, dangerous. Derek takes a few steps back. “Derek, _go home_.”

 

“He’ll -” Derek tries to argue, but Stiles doesn’t have time to listen to it. He needs to get Peter away from them.

 

“He won’t; he can’t. This is _my_ turf. Go home. _Please_ ,” He begs.

 

Derek takes a few more steps back, walking backwards like he can’t take his eyes off of Stiles, like he’s scared of what could happen if he does. “Promise,” he demands, face hard.

 

“Cross my heart, Derek, I’ll be back soon.” Stiles releases a relieved sigh when Derek finally adjusts his grip on Oliver, then turns and walks away. Stiles relaxes further when he feels the wards around his cabin opening for Derek and closing behind him. Smart. Peter tries to move towards Stiles again, and Stiles only shakes his head. “Don’t make me do this, Peter. Leave, don’t come back, I won’t come for you.”

 

“I just need your help with a certain issue, and then I’ll leave,” Peter says, like it’s simple.

 

“I told you, I don’t owe you anything and I won’t help you. No emissary with a shred of decency would,” Stiles says, dismissive again. Peter is marked as persona non grata. He’s not about to help him.

 

“But _you’re_ not entirely decent, are you, Stiles?” Peter teases, and that makes Stiles’ blood boil faster than it ever has.

 

“GET _OUT_ OF MY TERRITORY BEFORE I TEAR YOU TO PIECES!” Stiles’ voice booms through the clearing, and for a second the ground shakes.

 

“That demon left something in you, didn’t it? Just a tiny fragment of a thing that you can tap into, if you want to. I need that.” Peter shrugs and smiles and Stiles wants him to die.

 

Stiles swallows, clenching his fists. “I’m not going to ask again, Peter,” he says quietly, like the calm before a storm. He walks over until they’re almost chest to chest. “Leave. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t email. Don’t write. _Forget we exist._ ”

 

“Or what, Stiles? What happens if I make you angry enough?” Peter bares his teeth in a smug grin.

 

Stiles swallows again. He can’t control it anymore. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening, but he’s not in the mood to stop and check. He’ll do that later. “You don’t want to find out.” He shoves Peter against the tree, pinning him there. He’s taller than when Peter’s last seen him. He’s got more muscle definition than he’s ever had. Peter’s breath stutters. Stiles has one hand around Peter’s neck. He squeezes. “Did you hear me? _You don’t want to find out._ ” He squeezes harder, forcing Peter to struggle to breathe.

 

“You’re not afraid to be this close to an alpha werewolf’s teeth?” Peter chokes out.

 

“ _You’re_ not afraid to be this close to _me_ ?” Stiles counters. Peter manages a chuckle, so Stiles squeezes harder. “You said you’ve heard things. Sure you want to try me? You won’t come back to life a second time. You’re between a rock and a hard place, here. You can’t hurt me because you need me, but you also know that I _will_ kill you if you don’t leave when I let go of you. What’s it going to be, Peter?” Stiles asks. Peter snarls in response. Stiles doesn’t even blink, unimpressed. “On the count of three,” he whispers. “One. Two. _Three_.” Stiles lets go and steps back.

 

Peter stands there for a moment, then runs. He stops far enough that Stiles won’t easily get to him but close enough that he’ll hear. “I’ll come back again, Stiles.”

 

“Not if you value your life,” Stiles replies, a warning.

 

“I’ll find you and you _will_ help me,” Peter insists. He’s still regulating his breath.

 

“No. No I won’t. Because if you find me out of this territory, I’ll break your neck,” Stiles says, and it’s a promise.

 

Peter snarls again because he knows Stiles means it, and Stiles just chuckles, scratching his cheek distractedly. “I’ll see you around, Stiles.”

 

“I’ll see you never, Peter.” Stiles doesn’t bother watching Peter leave. He instead heads straight to the cabin, only walking in after he feels Peter pass through the wards.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asks, furious. “Why didn’t you tell me he was -”

 

“Because of this. Because you’ve had _enough_ of him and I didn’t want you agonizing over it. That’s it,” Stiles admits quietly. “It wasn’t my place, but I just… I didn’t want you to go after him either.”

 

“Is he - did you -?” Derek stutters, looking Stiles over, trying to see signs of a struggle. He relaxes a little when he can’t find any but still waits for an answer.

 

“No. I got him to leave,” Stiles reassures him quietly.

 

“How?” Derek frowns, angry.

 

“By squeezing his neck until he couldn’t breathe, and giving him a choice. He chose wisely.” Stiles shrugs and sighs, suddenly tired with all the adrenaline draining.

 

Derek collapses on the couch, burying his face in his hands. “You can _do_ that?”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer for a moment. He doesn’t want to. “Yes.” He says eventually, with finality. He doesn’t want to say any more about it. He has a feeling he might have to eventually.

 

“What else can you do?” Derek asks quietly. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s never seen him before, and Stiles wants to cry a little, but doesn’t.

 

“Things I don’t want to talk about.”

 

Oliver mumbles baby gibberish from where he’s sitting on the couch next to Derek, and Derek doesn’t say anything, but he’s still looking at Stiles with a mix of fear and awe and anger.

 

“Next time I tell you to stay, _stay_ ,” Stiles says next, to get Derek to look at him with any other feeling than that… fear.

 

“You don’t _get_ to order me around, Stiles,” Derek argues, sobered up from his daze.

 

“I’M -” Stiles starts loudly, and sees Oliver’s face scrunch up, confused or scared because he raised his voice, and stops for a calming breath. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I don’t know what will happen if you or Ollie get hurt. Do you understand what I’m saying? _I don’t know what I’ll do._ I don’t know what I’m capable of, and it _scares_ me.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek says shakily. “ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ You promised, _we_ promised, no secrets.”

 

“Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that ever again.” Stiles gestures at Derek’s face, and sees the same expression he saw the night his friends and his father faced him when he was possessed, and looks away. “It’s enough that _I’m_ scared of me. I don’t need you to be scared too.”

 

“I’m not scared _of_ you, you asshole. I’m scared _for_ you.” Derek punches Stiles’ thigh with frustration. Stiles stumbles a little but remains standing.

 

“I don’t… want that either,” Stiles says desperately, scrubbing his hands over his face.

 

“Well, tough luck. If you’re going to keep putting yourself in danger, I’m going to keep being scared. Kinda how relationships work. You worry about each other.”

 

“It’s not like I go _looking_ for it.”

 

“You kind of do,” Derek argues curtly.

 

“I… I _don’t_. I just… have a reputation. Certain skills. Knowledge,” Stiles says evasively.

 

“Oh, so going to meet Peter alone wasn’t looking for danger?” Derek wonders sarcastically. “Please explain how.”

 

“Was I supposed to let him get near the house with everything I know? Near Oliver?” Stiles counters.

 

“You could have stayed and let me handle him.”

 

Stiles chuckles, more sad than amused. “You… _trust_ , so _implicitly_ , you’d have let him right in. And I don’t blame you, and it’s one of my favorite things about you, but I couldn’t let Peter near you.” Stiles shakes his head, smiling at Derek fondly. “He was looking for me anyway,” he explains next.

 

Derek doesn’t comment on the first part of Stiles’ argument, though his face shows a wave of different emotions. “What did he need you for?”

 

“Certain skills. Knowledge,” Stiles echoes himself, sounding like he’d rather not to, but knows he has to.

 

Derek makes a face, annoyed at being kept in the dark still. “And you won’t help him?”

 

“He’s murdered two alphas. One of them was his niece. I will _never_ help him,” Stiles says emphatically.

 

“Not even if I asked you to?” Derek challenges

 

“Would you _do_ that?” Stiles feels like he’s been hit in the chest, betrayed.

 

“In exchange for him leaving us alone forever? Probably.” Derek shrugs.

 

“He won’t come near here again,” Stiles says with finality.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because that snake values his life, and banshees that can resurrect him a second time are _rare_. He was lucky that first time,” Stiles says simply. He’s still standing, looking down at Derek, not sure if he can come closer yet.

 

“How do you know that?” Derek asks. He seems relieved to hear it.

 

“Lydia has a network of banshees that she keeps up with. Apparently, as with everything else, she’s a one-in-a-generation type of person.” Stiles smiles almost involuntarily at the thought.

 

“Figures.” Derek snorts, shaking his head.

 

“Doesn’t it just,” Stiles says sarcastically.

 

“So are you, though, aren’t you?” Derek asks carefully, awed again. He pats the arm of the couch twice, inviting Stiles over.

 

Stiles lets out a relieved breath and sits down gingerly, his taut muscles all relaxing when Derek wraps an arm around his back and leans his head against Stiles’ side. “I’m sorry,” Stiles says, quiet again.

 

“What for?” Derek looks at him, assessing.

 

“I broke the no secrets promise. Like, immediately after making it.” Stiles huffs an embarrassed chuckle, ducking his head.

 

“I don’t think I wanted to know.” Derek internalizes the feeling and understands, just a little, why Stiles keeps things to himself. He’d have loved to keep Stiles away from pain too.

 

“It should have been your choice to make, nonetheless,” Stiles admits.

 

“I’m not angry,” Derek says, sincere.

 

“You should be.”

 

“I was. I’m not now.” Derek smiles at Stiles, tightening his hold around him.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Derek agrees. “Let’s go home.” He stands up, pulling Stiles with him, releasing him only to pick Oliver up, cradling him against his chest. They walk the short distance to the house huddled close together, and settle down on the living room floor to play with Oliver.

**Author's Note:**

> If you did like it, or want to talk to me, I'm on tumblr as itsaseasonalthing!


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